


The Confines of Our Hearts

by TeddieJean



Category: Glee
Genre: Abuse, Basically this is just an excuse to write hurt/comfort fluff, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddieJean/pseuds/TeddieJean
Summary: Dani has suffered from severe abuse and neglect since she was a little girl. Moving to New York City at the age of twenty-two, with no home and nothing left, she's hardly even hoping for a future. But when Santana, Kurt, and Rachel find her on the streets and take her home, she slowly comes to realize that her life might just be worth living. Dantana. Trigger warnings within.





	1. Through Swirling Storm

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a total redo. This was one of my first fics over at FF.net (it's still there) and so is pretty messy and poorly written; I'm cleaning it up, combining a couple of chapters to make them a little longer, and trying to arrange things to make a little more sense.
> 
> And yes, this story is purely an excuse to write a stupid, fluffy hurt/comfort fic with somebody vulnerable and somebody being sweet and protective. I'm into it. Shameless. If that's not your style, that's basically all this is. If it is, boo, you're in the right place.
> 
> Trigger Warning: this fic contains (sometimes graphic) depictions of rape and abuse. If that might trigger you, this is not safe for you, so you should probably leave. Like now. Because it starts like right now.

Late August mornings in New York City came chilly and bright; light breezes brushed through the avenues, skated over the treetops in Central Park. The sun shone with that sort of sparkling clarity that brings everything into sharper focus, and yet forces a squint if stared at too intensely. The traffic was light, the birds flittering wildly between trees along the sunny path.

It was the perfect morning for Santana, who was currently clicking down the sidewalk in her best pair of work heels. Her job at the producing company had been going well recently — all the more reason for her to take a day off, but she wasn't feeling particularly lazy today. In fact, her motivation had been increased by the fact that Kurt was attempting to start a band — she didn't think she could stand another day of being shut up in the house with an overly enthusiastic Lady Hummel. For now, she was perfectly content to walk through Central Park with her caramel-iced cappuccino and paper bag full of glazed donuts.

For Dani, it was an entirely different story.

Earlier that morning, six-thirty AM by the huge, luminous clock dangling from a nearby bank along the edge of the park, she woke for the fifth time to the angry shouts of indignant passerby. Remaining silent as the middle-aged woman bellowed in furious tones about the growing impurity of the city — how _dare_ they allow tramps and lunatics to sleep on park benches during the autumn — Dani blinked slowly, and with baleful eyes, simply did not move. At this point, conservation of energy was crucial if she were to make it through the day. She did not even flinch, just watched as the lady ranted on and on, until a sudden jolt of her spine as she reeled instinctively backwards informed her that the woman had stepped into her personal space.

With a low, whimpering cry, Dani dove under the mahogany bench. Beneath lay her guitar case, her only chance of survival; for the last six months, she had gotten by playing at bus stops and subway stations. It was a surprisingly successful job, but had earned her no more than enough to pay for a small amount of food at the end of each day. These last few days, after developing a strange weakness in her muscles that she could only assume to be anemia, she hadn't played at all.

Now she cowered beneath the bench at the absolute edge of the park near an alleyway, trembling with fear as a result of the unwarranted confrontation. Perhaps the woman had thought she was being dim, but in reality, she simply hadn't been able to move. She listened vaguely as the woman prattled on for several minutes, curling in on herself in case she was struck again. The woman bent down, prodding at her with a cane (surely, _surely_ she had something better to do with her time on such a fine August morning), and Dani was just about to scream when a cool, smooth voice cut into the ceaseless string of admonishments.

"Lady, lady, let it go . . . I'm sure you've got better things to do than yell at this poor girl," the voice broke in easily, tone tinged with a carefree air. The woman retreated, muttering to herself in indignation as she went on her way. Once she was sure the old hag had gone, Dani allowed herself to look up.

"Hey there sweetheart," the young man greeted effortlessly, extending a hand to pull the frightened young woman to her feet. "Giving you a bit of a hard time there, was she? I'm Christopher; buddies call me Chris." Dani's darting crystal eyes flickered back and forth from the man to the small circle of what she supposed were friends that flanked him. Young men, possibly around her own age, all dressed in black leather with shaved heads, tattoos, and what looked like about fifty visible piercings.

Dani, ignorant of the ways of the world, perceived the banter as friendliness, and regarded them with gratefulness instead of mistrust.

"Thank you," she murmured appreciatively, swinging the strap of her guitar case over her shoulder in an effort to mask the obvious unsteadiness of her slender legs. The man who had spoken, Chris, smiled effortlessly, display shimmering teeth that had all been capped in gold.

"No problem, sweetheart," he crooned, wrapping a tight arm around her shoulder casually. Dani froze at the movement, her eyes slipping shut for a brief moment before opening again to show her pupils slightly dilated in fear. "Now, you look like a pretty young thing, and times are hard, we all know that — why don't you come with us and we'll help you out?" he proposed, glancing significantly at the others when he was sure the girl wasn't watching. A short man with studded eyebrows cracked his knuckles menacingly.

At the sound, something clicked in Dani's mind, and she was suddenly aware of the danger of the situation she had placed herself in.

"Th — thank you," Dani stuttered. "B — but I really should be going — " she began to protest, desperately searching for an escape, but the grip on her shoulder merely tightened.

"Oh, but darling," Chris crooned smoothly, "we _insist."_ And with that, he jerked his shoulders as a signal, and the others surged forward. One seized Dani by the legs, tucking them beneath his arm and hoisting her into the air. Another moved swiftly to stuff a rag in her mouth, muffling her surprised cries for help.

Chris merely laughed ruthlessly, shaking his head as his buddies carried the screaming girl off into the darkness of the nearby alleyway, where nobody would see or question what they were about to do.

* * *

Santana was on her way home late that night, hurrying along the edge of Central Park through the torrential downpour, grumbling to herself about the indignance of having to walk through a thunderstorm in a mere trench coat, when a low whimpering caught her ears. She halted at the entrance to the alley, squinting through the rain in an attempt to see anything beyond the tip of her own nose. She sighed. She _really_ should've listened when Rachel tried to convince her to buy those glasses. Even if they were really seven dollars just for a pair of magnifiers from the pharmacy down the block, she could use them. Maybe then she wouldn't get such awful, splitting headaches.

"Hello?" she called out grumpily, her voice echoing off the walls of the derelict apartment houses that lined the narrow passage. A scuffling, followed by another whimper. Sighing to herself, Santana shook the rain droplets from her eyes, and took another tentative step into the area. _"Hello?_ Is somebody there?" she probed loudly. When her inquisitions were met only by more pitiful cries, she grew curious.

She entered the alley cautiously, knowing full well to be on her guard. She had lived in this city for almost two years now, and was only too familiar with its various human dangers. The splashing of her boots in puddles echoed off the wet brick walls in the semi-dark. She had only stepped forward several yards when the whimper came again.

Santana jumped about a foot in the air, startled by the fact that she had nearly stepped on the source of the noise, and moments later knelt to the ground in shock at the sight that met her eyes.

A young woman was curled in a soaked, muddy heap on the ground against the wall, shivering and whining in a truly pathetic manner. Dark streaks of blood were smeared all down and across her clothes and skin, her left wrist hung limp, and one of her ankles was twisted in an awkward position beneath her. She lay curled in a fetal position, sheltering her vital organs in a way that Santana recognized. She had seen this before in Rachel, in Quinn, and in Kurt, and she knew at once that the girl had been mistreated. She only caught a glimpse of platinum hair and a bruised, battered face before the words spewed from her mouth without permission.

"Oh my god! Are you all right?" she exclaimed. Immediately after, she brought a hand to her mouth; her words had startled the young woman so that she let out a small scream, skittering backwards against the wall in a frantic attempt to escape. Her eyes were wide and frenzied, honey brown, Santana noticed — not that she was paying any particular attention to details at that very moment. Almost in a panic, she attempted to stand before collapsing to the ground with a weak cry as Santana drew closer with the intention to stop her.

"Hey, hey, whoa there, honey! I'm sorry!" Santana gushed, babbling slightly in her haste to calm the frightened girl. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear! Where do you live? Do you have a family? What's your address? Do you need help? I mean, obviously you need help, but should I call someone, or . . ." she trailed off, realizing at the sight of a slight, crinkling frown in the other's girl's forehead that she had been rambling. Sighing, she dropped her hand.

"I'm getting you help, okay?" Those captivating eyes merely blinked. "Okay?" Not even a blink this time; the blonde merely stared. Santana sighed. "I'm getting help." With a sharp intake of air, she reached into her pocket and speed-dialed.

"Berry, Lady Hummel, get down to the Central Park alley by West Seventy-Fourth as quickly as you can. I really need your help."

* * *

"They're just the kind of injuries you would expect from an attack like this," Blaine was saying as he returned from Santana's bedroom, removing the stethoscope from around his neck in a far too professional manner for what Santana was used to. "Even though I'm not technically working right now, I still have to follow confidentiality agreements, so I can't tell you the extent of her injuries, but she's had a rough time of it. From what I've seen, it appears as though she was thrown into a wall and hit her head more than once; she's got a few bruises, a bad ankle, and a couple of nasty broken ribs," he concluded, setting down his medical kit on the coffee table. "All-in-all, she's in pretty bad shape, but nothing seems critical. Speaking optimistically, she ought to make a full recovery."

The reaction to his proclamation was stunned silence as Kurt, Rachel, and Santana all stared at him in disbelief. He looked back in confusion.

"What?"

"There is no way that's all that happened to her!" Santana finally exclaimed explosively, halting her agitated pacing by the apartment window. "When I found her, there was blood _everywhere,_ the poor girl was sobbing like there was no tomorrow, and all you have to give me is a few bruises? Santa Maria fancy pants, you're a _doctor,_ aren't you? Why don't you just go fix her up and — "

"Training to be a doctor," Kurt cut in quietly. Santana shot him a devil's glare.

"Whatever. What I'm trying to say — "

"I think what Santana is trying to say," Rachel cut in smoothly (Kurt shot her a grateful look). "Is that you're withholding important information from us, Dr. Blaine, because a girl in that state must have sustained much worse injuries than you're explaining. So please, enlighten us." Santana grumbled to herself before tossing herself down on the couch and downing an entire glass of vodka in one go.

Blaine, nervous, turned to his fiancé for help.

"Don't look at me," Kurt responded apologetically, raising his arms in defense. "I think the Lady Loudmouth said it all. Santana's right for once — even though she did just down the last glass of my expensive new Dutch vodka," he added sternly, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow pointedly at his roommate. Santana merely scowled, and snapped her fingers impatiently at Blaine.

Blaine sighed in defeat, and sat down on the arm of the couch.

"All right, so basically, beside the bruises, cuts, sprained ankle, and bumps on the head, you're looking at a girl who's probably been severely abused throughout her entire life," he gave reluctantly, meeting eyes seriously with each of them in turn. "Not just physically, either. I really — I shouldn't be telling you any of this; legally I can't. All I can say is that what happened to her tonight wasn't the first time. It'll take about a month and a half for all of her external injuries to heal completely, but with physical evidence of her history . . . the emotional toll is going to be huge."

"Blaine," Rachel spoke up hesitantly. "Why . . um," she trailed off, looking a little hesitant, and Santana understood just how bad the situation was. Apart from at the death of her fiancé, Rachel Berry had never been lost for words. "I know you can't answer this — properly — but . . . was she — you know — " she gave up again, seemingly unable to finish her sentence.

Blaine's eyes were troubled.

"Definitely," he said uncomfortably. "Probably . . . more than once. Maybe by all of them, and — definitely in the past."

Santana felt herself go pale, choking back the bile in her throat that had risen at the graphic mental imagery that had accompanied Blaine's words. Rachel was gripping the edge of a chair with white knuckles. From some unidentifiable source — probably Kurt by the sound of it — there came a low, muffled groan of horror.

Santana's eyes were squeezed shut tightly; she drew long, deep breaths in an effort to get ahold of herself. She had to focus. This strange girl had been beaten to a pulp so many times, and all it took was the suggestion of it for them all to lose it completely. She needed to do something, anything.

Blaine, seeing the desperation in his friends' pained expressions, quickly provided an out.

"Guys, listen up," he called out over the noise. Immediately, they all settled down. He looked each of them straight in the eye as he spoke, his voice leveled and stern. "Look, this girl is going to need more than just a doctor, okay? I already asked her for contact information; she says she doesn't have any. Now I don't want to impose upon you in any way, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to." At Rachel's sound of confusion, he sighed.

"She's going to have to stay here, Rach. Maybe for a very long time," he said quietly. In any other circumstance, Rachel would have been known to raise a fuss. Yet something in the younger boy's tone stopped her, and she remained silent, merely nodding meekly in agreement. "I know it's not ideal; she ought to have professional help, but the suggestion of a hospital terrified her so much that she nearly passed out. She needs human contact; gentle human contact. I'm not comfortable with leaving her here alone, so one of you is going to have to stay with her. All of the time. Not necessarily be around her, but be in the apartment just in case she needs something."

Kurt looked up, staring first at his fiancé, and then at the two girls beside him. He shook his head apologetically.

"Ladies, I'm sorry, but I've got to be at work for this new project," he said softly, his eyes darting back and forth between the two. "I'd love to help her out, but — "

"I'll do it."

Santana wasn't sure what had possessed her to say such a thing; the words had slipped from her mouth without invitation. However, the instant they passed her lips, she understood just how true they were. She raised her head slowly to see all three of them staring at her in amazement, from a shocked-looking Blaine to an open-mouthed Rachel Berry. But she wasn't looking at them; she wasn't even completely aware of their presence. The only thing she could remember clearly was the beautiful, battered woman on the pavement, and that pair of sparkling eyes that, no matter how many times she blinked, refused to be cleared from her vision.

Back in her high school days, Santana had been, no matter how much she despised it, the vulnerable one. Despite her fierce exterior, she'd been small and lonely and needy; Brittany had helped her to see that. In return, she'd lashed out at the ones who were small and vulnerable in the exact same way that she was.

How times had changed.

With growing up had come a level of maturity that Santana wasn't quite sure how she'd obtained. It had also come along with the recognition that, having grown enough to no longer feel vulnerable, she had come to love those who did. She felt bigger now, stronger; powerful, and she felt the undeniable urge to protect and give and help heal. She'd already made peace with her old enemies, and they'd insisted that it was all water under the bridge. Far from blaming her, they'd been understanding and kind.

She couldn't go back and undo how badly she'd treated people in the past, but maybe this could be her chance to pay it forward.

 


	2. Fractured, Starved

Dani lay motionless on the mattress, staring up unblinkingly at the white, plastered ceiling. In the back of her brain, a low voice suggested that perhaps she should move, but was ignored. There was too much to inhibit her: the pain, the shock, and the overwhelming fear of punishment if she were to disobey. The boy Blaine — he had told her that he was training as an EMT — hadn't specifically forbidden her to move, but she knew enough now that it was best to simply remain still. It wouldn't provoke anger, at the very least.

Dani's surroundings were so entirely surreal that she was consumed with a sort of frightened curiosity. It had been over fourteen years since she had been allowed to sleep in a real bed, much less alone in an entirely separate room. As she lay there, she took in the feeling of the mattress beneath her body, the warm blankets spread over her and tucked around her sides. The bedroom itself was fancy too, lined with oak-paneled walls and trophies, movies, instruments, and bookcases.

She had not seen a bedroom in many years.

Dani was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps — they were not the boy's; these were more rapid and anxious sounding, padding across the floor in bare feet. Was this someone, then, who lived here? Were they coming to kick her out? Surely they would; she had gotten blood on a towel when Blaine had examined her.

As the doorknob began to slowly turn, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly with a sinking heart. This was it. They had figured out who she was and had come to punish her at last.

Dani kept her eyes closed, her desperation giving way to panic as the unknown person approached the bedside. She listened carefully, hearing the rustle of expensive clothing as the person leaned down. Then, without warning, a hand landed on the sheets beside her head.

With a yelp of surprise and fear, Dani scrambled across the bed, getting tangled in the sheets as she put as much distance as possible between herself and her attacker. She was too frightened, even, to notice the throbbing pain that the movement drew in every part of her body. There was a sound of surprise, followed by further rustling.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" came the exclamation. "Slow down, sweetheart, it's okay." Dani paused in her escape attempts; the voice was vaguely familiar. However, she swiftly decided that this was no time to ponder her situation; based on past experiences, she figured on fewer than thirty seconds before the hitting started. If she didn't shut her mouth, it would be twenty-three at best.

She tried to run again, and actually managed to crawl out of the bed and stumble halfway to the door before the stranger realized what was happening.

The sudden feel of a hand on her wrist tore her senses away completely, and she flinched hugely, turning to fight before she actually saw the stranger's face.

Oh.

_Oh._

Staring back at her with mixed emotions of worry and confusion were the most startling pair of brown eyes Dani had ever seen.

Santana stared at her with wide eyes, angular eyebrows quirked in a perplexed sort of frown. Dani hesitated on the verge of a scream, pausing at the sight of those eyes. They were warm, she noticed, slightly lighter around the pupils, and filled with anxiety. Upon seeing her startled expression, they grew slightly narrower in a response that Dani didn't understand, so she turned her attention to the rest of the stranger.

Dark jeans — slim-fitting, she noticed — and a pale beige shirt that accentuated curvy hips made up the stranger's attire. She was reluctant to look at her face again, and lingered on details in an attempt to procrastinate the inevitable. Eyes downcast, she took in the slender legs, the voluptuous curves hugged by the tight fabric, and found herself swallowing slightly, afraid. Beautiful women made her nervous.

At last, when she felt that she could prolong it no further, she raised her eyes to examine the face that belonged to this beautiful stranger, and her stomach did a double take.

Now she remembered. This was the young woman who had found her in the alleyway several hours before.

The bow-shaped, slightly chapped lips opened and spoke.

"What's your name?" was the soft inquiry. Dani started at the sound, and turned clumsily to run before the pain in her ribs and ankle abruptly caught up with her, and she sank to the floor with a sharp cry of pain. Immediately, the strange girl was beside her, crouching down to lean forward on the balls of her feet with anxiety flashing across her eyes. Dani flinched away in a move that was almost automatic, letting out another small sound, and, instantly, the stranger backed away.

"I'm sorry," came the low apology, voice slightly husky. Dani merely shied away, arms moving to cover her chest and abdomen as she attempted to hide her face in the wall. She would not cry. They would hit her if she cried. "I'm not going to hurt you," the stranger murmured, still taking care to keep her voice low and soothing. Dani did not trust her, not for one moment — that was the sort of voice that everybody used; the soft, melodic crooning as if to an injured bird. It was what they all said.

She had thought that she could escape from that here.

"Look, I'm Santana," the girl persisted, folding herself down to kneel at eye level. "I know you're freaked out — this has to be totally overwhelming. But you need to understand that we're not going to hurt you here." Dani didn't even acknowledge the words. Who was this Santana girl to pretend she knew anything about what she had gone through? If she did, she would have left her alone instead of trying to trick her into trusting somebody else.

"At least let me get you cleaned up?" Still, Dani refused to respond. The girl called Santana sighed, an action that sounded almost weary, and certainly defeated. "Fine. All right, I'll make you a deal — you listening?" She spared the girl a glance, long enough to see the lack of response, before continuing. "You can take your own shower and everything — the bathroom's right through there — but you need to let me clean the cuts on your hands, at least. Those could get infected and cause you problems. I mean, more than you already . . . yeah, let's just leave it at that. Okay?" Dani blinked, but otherwise didn't move — she didn't have any inclination to risk getting slapped. If she opened her mouth, it was surely what would happen.

Santana unfolded her lengthy legs, standing to her slightly intimidating height — taller than Dani, but still petite — and stretched.

"All right. The clean towels are folded on the shelf to your left as you enter the bathroom. You can take any one you want. Use the shampoo, the soap — whatever you want. I'll be back in a bit to take care of your hands." With that, she opened the door, maneuvering her way carefully around Dani's collapsed legs, and quietly shut it behind her.

For the longest time, Dani did not move at all. She remained completely still upon the floor, listening to the dull murmur of voices outside the little room, frozen with confusion and fright. But at last, the need to feel clean from the blood and pain grew stronger, and she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet by gripping the side of the dresser.

To her left stood the open door to the bathroom. When she had moved earlier, her mobility had been made possible by fear and adrenaline. Now, crossing the short space of rug to the bathroom required more effort than movement had taken her in a long, long time. Inch by trembling inch she crept slowly across the room, carefully testing each square of rug before she allowed weight to be placed on her injured foot.

At last, she reached the door to the little room, and shut and locked it hastily, before sliding to the floor again with a low groan of pain. Now that she was safe, it was time to assess the damage. Gingerly, she rotated her right wrist joint, only to stop immediately with a grimace. Okay, so _that_ wasn't going to be any help. Next, she moved her hand slowly to her ribcage, prodding gently, as Blaine had done to her earlier. She could feel the cracks through her skin.

Closing her eyes in defeat, she allowed her head to fall back against the door with a thump. Great. Just great. Why had she allowed those men to take her away? This was supposed to be her break, her new beginning, but so far all it was turning out to be was a repeat of her childhood.

It wasn't fair. Everything good she did to try to bring her life back together only made things worse. She was past the point of feeling, now — what she had to do now was assess her injuries, do a little damage control, and get out of this apartment as quickly as possible before someone else tried to hurt her.

That thought reminded her of the men.

Ignorantly, she had assumed that she would be used to it by now — the relentless abuse, the beatings; the blatant, hideous insults. As far as she had been concerned years ago, she was only lucky to have not gotten pregnant. She had thought that it would be almost _normal_ by now — a sickened, twisted version of reality, but reality nonetheless.

She had been wrong.

For some reason, this time was worse than all the others.

Maybe it was the fact that she had, for the first time since she was a little girl, had a bit of hope for a better life. It was like she was six again, arriving home from school with ever-fading faith that things would change, would be different, would be even _tolerable._ For the first time in years, she had allowed herself to hope, and had paid more dearly for it, it seemed, than all of the previous times before.

With this thought came a sudden panic that struck as swiftly as a slap across the face.

She needed to wash them _off_ of her. She could feel them everywhere, hands and dirty mouths crawling all over her body. When she closed her eyes, she could hear them still, hear their taunts, feel their disgusting breath lingering on her face. She wanted them _off. Now._

With a muffled sob, she scrambled to her feet, once more ignoring the pain in her ankle. Her clothes felt like they had been glued to her body with sweat and blood and a million other things that she didn't care to think about. Hopping in place on her good leg, she peeled off her stained jeans, ripping them off and casting them as far away as the small bathroom permitted. There was no need to remove her underwear; they had taken them along when they left.

She balanced carefully against the towel rack, attempted to unbutton her blouse before losing patience with her violently trembling fingers. She tore the garment vehemently from her body, hurling it in the same direction as her pants, as if by throwing them as far as she could she would be able to rid herself of the memories that clung to them like an ugly leech to pale, fleshy human skin.

Her bra followed next, and the broken chain of her necklace. She needed them _off._

Stumbling blindly into the walk-in shower, she yanked up the handle, fumbling in her panic. She could feel them pressing in now, closer and louder and warmer than before. Their hands were everywhere, everywhere she didn't want them, and all over the rest of her skin. Even little places that ought not to have mattered, like the webs of skin between her fingers and the spots of skin above her ears, felt violated and intruded upon. She could smell their breath, laden with alcohol and cigarettes, feel it land on her skin in hot and steamy puffs and spread out in a burst of foul humidity across the nervous flesh. They were too close; even with her eyes closed she could sense them all over her fragile body.

She sat down, freezing water droplets pelting her battered skin, and she cried.

* * *

Santana pushed open the door to the bedroom, checking first to ensure that Dani was not still lying in front of it. Seeing that all was clear, she crossed the room in several swift strides, and rapped her knuckles quietly on the bathroom door. When no sound met her ears but the steady rush of falling water, she began to turn back, but halted at the sound of a low, muffled sob. She pressed her ear against the door, and called out softly.

"Is everything all right in there?" Upon receiving no response, she tested the handle, drew out her key, and quietly opened the door. At first, glancing hurriedly around the room, she saw nothing particularly out of place. But then her eyes fell upon the huddled figure in the open shower, and with a low gasp, she took a step forward, only to fall back in shock and horror.

Blaine had far understated the severity of Dani's injuries. Even from where she stood, Santana could see the bruises; tight blemishes decorating the girl's body from her thighs to her neck, mottling her pale skin various sickly shades of black and navy and violet and mauve. Her collarbone was bruised all across, while fingerprints showed clearly around the tendons in her neck. Limitless scars in varying degrees of recovery were scattered like pine needles across the expanse of her arms, shoulders, wrists, and thighs. Plastered onto the skin of her battered ribcage were scarred words that in the confusion of blood and bruises and water and tangled hair were completely illegible to Santana.

It didn't matter; she had seen more than enough to know that even without the prominent hipbones and haunted eyes this was someone who had been beaten within an inch of her life. Yet even still, even with the matted hair and swollen lips and dark shadows beneath her jawbone, she could see that there was a frail sort of beauty in the mere presence of the battered woman.

Despite the nauseating extent of it, Santana absorbed the scene rapidly, fighting down the rising urge to throw up, and was down on her knees beside the injured young woman before she even knew what her limbs were doing.

Not even minding the fact that she was still dressed in full professional getup, she crawled into the shower beside Dani, sitting down beside her under the deluge of freezing water.

"Yikes," she murmured, teeth chattering as she drew up her knees to her chest. "Aren't you freezing in here?" She didn't play dumb on purpose; the overwhelming intensity of the moment had caused all words to leave her, until she was merely left with dim-witted chitchat comments. As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt their ludicrousness hover in the chilled, humid air, raising eyebrows at her through the grey and yellow light. Sputtering at herself inwardly, she hurriedly took a mental backtrack, and approached the problem from a different angle.

"You're going to get sick if you stay in here, you know." Again, she mentally slapped herself; was it really going to be this hard? If she was ever going to make any progress in this situation, she was going to have to figure something else out. The woman beside her had not even moved in the past few minutes besides to shoot her a terror-stricken glance. How in the hell was she going to deal with this?

She decided to try a different tactic.

"Are you hungry?" No response was given. At least she wasn't screaming.

"Thirsty?" Same reaction; the silent woman merely stared at her with a look of pure fear in her stunning honey eyes. Santana bit her lip in thought, and for several minutes, there was only silence, the sound of the water pattering, and Dani's shaky sobs. Santana stared at her knees as the water ran in rivulets down her scalp and into the crevices of her neck, plastering her hair haphazardly to her temples.

After ten minutes of silence, she gave up.

"Okay, I'll tell you what. I bet you're tired, so I'll go put some new sheets on the bed and you can sleep there. I'll take the couch." And standing up before she could be discouraged again by the lack of response, Santana turned off the water, grateful when the flow eased to a tiny trickle, and stopped. On her way out the door, she took a towel down from the rack and placed it on the tile in front of the shower, taking one for herself, and left the room while frenetically drying her hair.

Dani remained a sculpture of chipped granite pain, curled lifelessly in a staring huddle against the shower wall.

* * *

She woke from fretful, anguished sleep hours later on the carpeted floor of Santana's bedroom, wrapped in the borrowed yellow towel.

A pair of sweatpants and a hoodie had been left folded outside the bathroom door. Dani had taken it as a test and ignored them; surely she was being examined, to see if she would be lured into their trap. Obviously, if she had taken the offered clothing, they would have punished her for it. Nice things never came without punishment, and while she was used to being disciplined, she wasn't accustomed to _their_ particular methods yet, and didn't want to risk it being more painful than previous ones.

The bed, too, she hadn't touched, but rather had made herself as comfortable as possible on an empty stretch of floor, and had forced herself to ignore the sharp pain in her ribs and hipbones that the hard surface only made more unbearable. But she could live with it. She had before.

She was just considering testing the movement of her injured ankle when the door to the bedroom was swung open, and Santana, dressed in black yoga pants and a skin-tight baby tee, crept in. At the sight of Dani curled in an awkward ball on the rug, she let out an unchecked noise of surprise.

Dani flinched and shut her eyes, hoping that the blow, when it came, would be swift. But instead of the painful smack she was expecting, she heard only Santana's voice calling.

"Kurt! Kurt, I need you in here!" Dani yelped at the loud volume and raised her hands to cover her ears. Instantly, a slew of apologies came rushing from the brunette, only to be interrupted when a boy with expensive clothing and ruffled morning hair stepped in, large doe eyes completely bewildered. At the sight of Dani on the floor, he too made a small noise, though his was much softer, and with a gentler tone.

Dani relaxed somewhat. The night before, Blaine (whom she had trusted to be near her only due to his status of a doctor) had informed her that he had a boyfriend, Kurt, who was a singer, whom she could trust to be around her if she felt uncomfortable with the others in the house.

Dani had no problem with Blaine or Kurt being gay; she would have been the world's biggest hypocrite if she had. It was more the fact that she was uneasy; could she trust Kurt to be like Blaine, and not hurt her?

She didn't appear to have a choice, because just as she was wondering what to do, she found herself gently scooped up in the arms of the ruffled boy, and being placed carefully on the edge of the bed. Her scream of terror was cut off by Kurt, who, though he appeared feminine and picky, apparently had just as little patience as Santana, but displayed it in a slightly more soft-spoken fashion.

"We're not going to hurt you, okay? I'm just getting you into the clothes we left you. You're going to get sick otherwise," he reassured her carefully, looking her straight in the eyes with a kind look that she understood to be a temporary sign of safety.

Her scream was re-emitted, however, when Santana attempted to draw near enough to help. Kurt turned sharply to the Latina, shooing her away with a brisk flapping of his hands as he chased her towards the door.

"Get the hell out, Santana, you're scaring her."

"But I — "

"Let me deal with it." After shutting the door behind the bewildered girl, he turned back to Dani, who now sat huddled on the bed in her borrowed baggy sweatpants and worn-out Cheerios hoodie. "I'll have Santana bring you a sandwich in a couple hours," he said quietly, his words somehow simultaneously firm and gentle. "You need to eat it, or we'll have to bring you to the hospital. I'm going to work; Santana won't hurt you, and she'll only bother you if you want her around, okay?" People seemed to be asking her opinion a lot, lately. She didn't quite know what to do with it; she'd never been asked what she _thought_ before.

Understanding, she nodded. Kurt nodded back, and turned heel in the manner of a gay-boy that was extraordinarily striking.

"Get in the bed," he said to her, by way of parting. "And sleep."

Once the door had clicked quietly shut, Dani obediently climbed to the head of the bed and slid beneath the covers. The weight of the covers was so foreign, the feeling of the mattress so strange, that she wasn't sure she would be able to obey the second command, and sleep. However, as she readjusted, attempting to lie in a position that somehow lessened the pressure on her ribs, she caught an enticing scent in the pillow beneath her head — warm clothes, and rain, and some sort of expensive perfume. She inhaled deeply, and her tense muscles relaxed slightly of their own accord.

Somehow, in her haze of pain and fear and absolute disorientation, it was the comforting scent on the pillows that calmed her, and somehow lulled her into a restless sleep.

 


	3. Brown-Eyed Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this now means that there are fewer chapters than there originally were, but I've been combining some of them to make them longer so that they flow a little better and so that each chapter isn't super short.

Dani's sleep was restless, ruptured at the tapered seams by snatching hands and invisible, malevolent voices. Fighting, she rose in her dreams, desperately attempting to wake herself as she felt again the lashing tongue of the belt across her shoulders and back, the sting of glass edging itself sneakily into her skin. She could see _him_ again, his daunting figure towering over her six-year-old self like some sort of terrifying giant.

She woke herself screaming, thrashing about in the wide bed to find her legs tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets. Frantically, she ripped them from her body and curled up in the center of the bare mattress, folding in on herself and screaming out in pure fear. She remained still for many minutes, screaming until her throat grew hoarse and sore, evident in the cracking of her voice. After a long time, when she was finally able to shake herself far enough out of her deep sleep, she clamped her mouth shut and sat up slowly, limbs and upper body trembling.

Her eyes roving curiously around the spacious room, Dani was at first alarmed at the sight of what appeared to be another person sitting in the corner of the room. However, when she dared to chance a closer look, she realized that she was seeing herself in the full-length mirror that stood against the wall by a bookcase. Curious, she climbed slowly out of bed, and crawled across the carpet until she had reached it.

She knelt, palms against the glass on either side of her face, and stared.

She had not seen her reflection in the over half of a year that had passed since leaving her foster parents' home. Now, gazing at her petrified eyes, shrunken lips, and bruised cheek and jawbones, she was shocked by her defeated appearance. Her shape had held out well — she had lost less weight than she had imagined, her healthy curves have been preserved, and her thick, bleached hair — brown creeping back in at the roots — seemed to be perfectly normal, but the expression in her own eyes frightened her. They were so blank, so _dead_ — what had happened to her?

Her musing were interrupted by the low growl of her stomach. She needed food, badly. But where could she find some? This was a stranger's apartment — a stranger who was, in all likelihood, going to punish her severely if she took anything that was offered to her. She was used to the punishment — that was the way it was; she wasn't supposed to exist. She wasn't worthy of being alive, so it was natural that she should suffer some sort of consequence for wasting useful air. But she was hungry, and she wanted to at least choke a small portion of food down before the abuse began again.

She wouldn't dare to ask for any; that would only ensure further deprivation. Her stepfather's words, so long ago spoken, echoed through her head — _if you ask, the answer is no._ It wasn't that she particularly _enjoyed_ living to meet the brutal man's standards. It was only that she had been forced to learn in order to survive, and even now, so many years later, her mind and body still clung to that way of living. How could it not? It wasn't as though she had ever known any differently.

She would wait until they came to her, and then, hopefully while they were distracted, she would eat as much as possible before the beating came. She only hoped that it would not be too painful; she didn't want to throw it back up.

Just as she had set her mind on getting more sleep, a light knock sounded upon the door.

Dani dove back into bed with a squeak of fright, and buried her face in one of the sweet-smelling pillows.

There was a slight hesitation, as if the silence was gathering words, and then Santana poked her head through the crack in the door. Her eyes searched the woman on the bed for any sign of life before opening the door wider, sliding a tray of food in onto the carpet, and then withdrawing once more, leaving Dani alone and very much afraid.

After a minute, one eye popped open. Upon seeing no danger, the other eye followed, and she was sitting again, gaze trained on the bowl of soup, two sandwiches, and glass of water that had appeared as though by some miracle in front of the door. Heart leaping into her throat, she flung herself off the bed frantically. She was halfway to the tray when she restrained herself abruptly. She didn't dare to do it. Under any other circumstances, she would have risked the beating, but something told her that it wasn't a wise choice to get hurt even more just then.

In such a gradual movement that it was nearly agonizing, she forced herself to tear her gaze away from the tempting sight. Biting her lower lip to avoid crying out of pure frustration, she cast her attention around for something to distract herself. After a moment, she had her decision made; the room was messy. She would clean; they would make her to do it anyways, and hopefully if she did it without being asked, she would be allowed to eat without repercussion.

Firmly ignoring the shooting pain in her ankle, she began to organize the room.

This routine went on for seven mealtimes; soon, two-and-a-half days had passed, and still Dani had not eaten. She could hear them outside, the strangers, their voices raised in apparent concern. She knew not who it was for, and as important as she knew it had to be, she couldn't bring herself to care. She hadn't eaten in close to a week, and though she had originally been determined not to eat until her injuries had mostly healed, still her ribs and wrist persisted in being broken, and her resolve was beginning to waver. Her stomach felt like something was gnawing through the muscle. It was like being clawed to pieces from the inside out.

When the next tray of food appeared, five hours later — they had been changing it every day — her control snapped, and she gave in.

Desperately, she stuffed a sandwich into her mouth, taking care to chew slowly so as not to choke on it on the way down. All the while, she listened for the sound of telltale footsteps coming to land a heavy blow. But though she devoured both the small pile of sandwiches and the bowl of hot soup, following it up by draining the water glass, no human approached.

Sleepy and hurt, the hollowness in her stomach somewhat assuaged, Dani pulled herself wearily back into bed.

It was hours before sleep finally drifted down.

* * *

Out in the hallway, Santana stopped Rachel on her way into the bathroom.

"She finally ate," she told her in a low voice, taking care that she not wake the sleeping woman. "I was just getting ready to call Blaine to take her to the hospital, but she ate it all, and drank the water, too." Rachel smiled, eyes weary, but relieved.

"Thank god," she sighed, dropping her bag to lean against the wall. She folded her arms, tilting her head at Santana inquiringly.

"Have you talked to her yet?"

"I've tried," Santana muttered. "It hasn't gone well. She's afraid to even be in the same room as me." Rachel frowned in contemplation, tapping her fingers against her knee while she thought. After a minute, she quirked her eyebrows and stood up straighter, a thought occurring to her.

"I think I know what might help," she suggested, brown eyes wide and earnest. Santana listened eagerly as she explained, drinking in the words with rapt attention that looked odd on her usually impassive face.

"Thank you, Rach," she whispered after, surprising them both by drawing Rachel into a hug. "I don't know what I would do without you, sometimes." Rachel left out a small, miffed noise of indignance.

"You never say thank you to me." Santana looked vaguely embarrassed.

"Yeah, well . . ." Rachel smiled at her, and slipped quickly into the bathroom before the Latina could conclude with an insult of some sort. Santana shook her head, but then brightened with slight hope, and took off in a run for the living room couch, where she had stored her guitar.

* * *

Several hours later, Dani stirred in her sleep, the gentle sound of a guitar being strummed etching its way into the crevices of her nightmares. She nearly screamed again — choking at the vision of her stepfather raising a glass to throw — but at the moment he drew his thick arm back, the distant musical echo caused him to hesitate. Cowering in a corner (trying desperately to pretend that she could hide in nightmares), she could feel her rising confusion seize control like a wayward copilot. She was supposed to be _hiding;_ he would hit her, and the dream would end. Why was he stopping now?

A soft, melodic voice, accompanying the music without words, eased the man into lowering the glass back to the liquor-stained coffee table, and melt away. Still halfway dreaming, Dani rose up in disbelief, watching the last vaporous strands of him retreat. This wasn't supposed to happen. Who was playing that music? Determined, she shook herself from the lingering fingers of sleep, and her eyes snapped open.

The girl called Santana was lounged on the floor opposite the bed, leaning against the closed door of the bedroom as she strummed lazily on a glossy cherry guitar, humming along sweetly. Though there were no words, and despite the fact that it wasn't true _singing,_ Dani could tell that the other girl was possessor of an astounding voice. She was enough of a musician herself to hear the beauty of the quietly murmured notes, the faint catch in her voice during the strain of an intercepting harmonic interlude. This was real music, in all of its insouciance, beauty, and imperfection.

She didn't know why she wasn't screaming; only that she felt no need. In music, she was safe.

Without being totally aware of her contribution — a dangerous choice in any other situation — Dani began to hum along. Santana didn't even glance up at the appearance of the added voice, but swiftly adjusted the melody to accommodate a higher harmony. Dani found it with ease, her voice sliding in easily beside Santana's to rise and fall in tandem, in complement, and in response. Their styles were clearly distinguishable, yet similar enough to flow effortlessly together; Dani's high and raspy, Santana's huskier and much lower in pitch.

The song ended naturally, on a broken chord that was touched at the edges by lingering, softly placed notes. For a minute, all was silence; Santana sat with her head bowed above the mutedly shining instrument, waving locks of raven hair cascading down her shoulders in a silky waterfall. Her wrists curved in where she held the guitar, shoulders relaxed, her breathing tranquil and unhurried. Dani remained still upon the bed, not even bothering to notice that she had allowed her hands to slacken their death grip upon the sheets. Something in the music had calmed her in a way that no words could; with a child's naivety, she felt that anyone willing to bare their soul in such a way could harbor no ill intent.

That's what music was to her; it was the unveiling of a person's truth and thoughts. It was the closest thing she could relate to 'being laid bare,' a phrase that she did not entirely understand. It was the exposure of a soul, the baring of a neck to the possibility of execution while at the same time trusting and knowing that no axe would fall. In that moment, she understood without consciously seeking out what Santana had done.

Anyone can pick up an instrument and play a few haphazard notes. It's understandable if a mistake is made; all errors are accepted because there is something foreign between the creator of the sound and the ear. The instrument can be blamed for a mechanical fault or an unfamiliarity. But with singing, mistakes are frowned upon, are less bearable. There is nothing between the voice and the projection of the sound, no safety net, no buffer for any fears. It is a person, and a person alone, and people have a habit of blaming people for their faults.

Performers may sing for large crowds of nameless faces, but it is hard sought when there emerges a person who will sing for a solitary audience, or a friend.

Dani had absolutely no inkling of where the sudden, confident burst of trust was emerging from, but she somehow instinctively knew that in that moment, she was safe.

Santana raised her head, and when her deep, captivating eyes found their target, Dani felt something in her chest rise and float at the eye contact.

"You have a beautiful voice." Santana's tone was careful, hesitant lest she make a wrong move and startle the strange young woman who was usually so easily alarmed.

"Thank you," Dani whispered back. She had expected her speech to be slightly impaired by lack of use, but her words, though quiet, were as clear as Santana's. Perhaps the screaming had paid off.

Santana didn't even blink, though slight surprise seemed to reverberate visibly through her figure at the sound of the woman's voice. She did not break the eye contact.

"I'm Santana." Dani nodded, her own dark eyes reflecting Santana's curious gaze.

"I'm Dani. And I know." Neither of them smiled, but Santana could feel the tug, usually automatic, for once feeling completely foreign at the corners of her lips. Still they did not move.

Dani didn't pretend to know anything about the beautiful girl sitting across the room, and she wasn't sure if she would ever know anything close to what could amount to a summative explanation. In the present time there was so much standing in the way of even the beginning of any sort of understanding. But she knew that in that moment, the short amount of space between them that was composed of crinkles in a linen bed sheets and a rough-edged faded carpet was simultaneously impossibly huge and infinitely, unspeakably small.

* * *

Long after midnight, Santana sat alone at the square table in the kitchen, a half-empty glass of wine still wrapped around her fingertips. The only sounds were the dull ticking of Rachel's fathers' antique wooden clock and the whispering sounds of Kurt's relaxed breathing. She had told them to go to bed, that she would just stay up for a little longer. A little longer turned into an hour, which turned into two, and if her current state of mind was anything to judge by, two would swiftly blend into the early hours of the morning.

"Stupid, Santana, you're being stupid," she muttered to herself, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the plaintive faces in the photos on the opposite wall. Honey beige, pale white, and darker crimson pressed along the corners of her eyes.

She wondered why everything seemed so much louder in the night. Even the young woman's name seemed to reverberate through her skull . . . _Dani,_ she found her mind slipping back to again. Her name was Dani.

Someone had given her a name.

Santana didn't know why that small, obvious fact had taken root so deeply in her thoughts. Everybody had a name, just like everybody had relatives, alive or otherwise. Everyone in the world _came_ from somewhere, she realized with a wondering shake of her head. No matter how different, angry, loving, or distraught everybody was, they all had in common the fact that they were there, that someone had _brought_ them there. Someone had been their mother, and their father; a place had been their beginning. Someone had picked, from the limitless labels and new creations, a specific name for each of them, a single sound that somehow made them who they were.

She wondered how long it had been since Dani had been called by her name.

Sitting purposelessly in the straight-backed chair, playing idly with the twisted stem of her wineglass, Santana wondered too much for her own comfort. Her thoughts were getting too absorbed, something that she hated as long as it meant that she wasn't alert. She had no reason to be focused at the moment; she had called in at her job and informed her boss of the situation. But even still, she despised not being in control of where her own mind was taking her.

Mentally shaking herself for allowing such ridiculous behavior, Santana stood, spared the ancient clock a contemptuous glance, and downed the remainder of her wine in one. It was getting on towards two in the morning; maybe now she would be able to sleep. It would only be a matter of shutting her mind off to explorations, otherwise she would be lying awake on the lumpy couch for more hours than she had already wasted. She would check on Dani first, and then go get ready for bed.

As soon as she had made the decision, it seemed, there came a whimpering from her bedroom. Immediately, her petulance transformed to concern, and she felt her face assume a look of worry. She would have to stop that; she was turning into such a nervous wreck.

Moving as swiftly down the tiny hallway as the silence of the night permitted, she hoped fervently that Dani was all right. She hadn't yet stopped to question her feeling of attachment, and had decided early on that these first few weeks were not the time. She had more pressing matters to deal with.

Knocking lightly on the door, she leaned in close to the crack in the door frame.

"Dani?" she called out softly, not wanting to wake either of the cantankerous sleeping beauties that slept only feet away. "Are you all right in there?" For a moment, there was no more sound, and Santana was just considering turning away when the quiet noise came again. Hesitantly, she pushed the door open, shutting it carefully behind her as she moved towards the bed where Dani lay tossing and turning fretfully.

She hurried to the other girl's side, pausing only for a moment to switch the lamp on before leaning over the bed. Platinum hair spread out like a fan across the pillow, Dani was still caught in sleep, apparently trapped in a nightmare as she thrashed and cried out sporadically. Santana was in half a mind to wait it out, worried that interference might serve to make the dream more frightening. She wanted to avoid inflicting any more possible damage.

It was going to prove harder than she thought, as Dani suddenly flailed her arms out across the bed, calling out for the first time with words, and causing Santana to jerk towards her in a sympathetic movement.

_"No, please! I didn't do it, I promise, please don't!"_ Dani thrashed, legs tangled in the sheets and constricting her movement. Seeing her struggle, Santana made her decision and moved to her, bending over her with her head bowed, whispering gently to her.

"Dani, _Dani,_ it's just me," she whispered, lightly grasping the girl's forearms in an attempt to stop her from injuring herself. She was careful to avoid the bruise marks. "It's just me, Santana. You need to wake up, honey; you're just dreaming. You're safe." As she was speaking, Dani's eyelids fluttered slightly, and her attempts to twist away gradually slowed as she clawed her way out of sleep, displaying anguished hazel eyes swimming in a pool of tears that were threatening to overflow. She let out another pleading whimper, eyes seeming to focus slowly on the Latina as Santana continued to murmur soothingly in her ear.

"I'm right here. I'm right here. You're safe. They're not going to hurt you." Santana was hardly aware of the low words of comfort that were escaping from her lips. She only had the brief consolation that she was saying the correct thing as her brain scrambled to keep up with her words. She only wanted to stop the tears that were now falling thickly, tracing paths of dampness down Dani's face. Dani was staring up at her, eyes still wide and terrified, casting her gaze around in a panicked manner that Santana understood perfectly. She knew that the other girl was still half-dreaming, and she needed to do something to snap her out of it. With Quinn, she used to shake her, because the rough handling was the only way to get her back, but she wouldn't do that with Dani.

She needed to reach her, and fast; otherwise she might go into a fully-fledged panic, and then it could take hours to bring her back to earth. Glancing around the room with a growing feeling of franticness, she sought for a way to catch the other girl's attention, and gently draw her out of whatever vision was keeping her in death grips. Thinking faster than she usually cared to, she scoured her brain for memories that might help her out.

Tina, she remembered, would always concentrate on her breathing when she had nightmares during Glee Club sleepovers. Brittany often had trouble sleeping as well, but she would want a different sort of . . . distraction when she woke. Neither of them would do. Quinn always needed shaking; Puck would hold her or play his guitar, often singing to her so late into the night that none of the rest of them could sleep . . .

_That's it._ Without even realizing that she had begun to stroke the tangled mess of platinum hair, Santana closed her eyes in search of a song, finally settling on the one she herself would always listen to when memories made it impossible for her to sleep. Finding peace in the darkness behind her own eyelids, she quietly began to sing.

_"When you try your best but don't succeed. When you get what you want, but not what you need."_ As the calming pulse of the familiar lyrics ebbed and flowed within her, Santana felt her concentration dissolving, flowing away from her mind and through her body; out through her fingertips as they danced in the messy hair.

_"When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse."_ Eyes opening naturally, she ventured a glance at the girl on the bed. Dani had stilled from the moment the first lyrics left Santana's tired lips, and though her chest still rose and fell rapidly with the remnants of panicked hyperventilation, her breathing was slowly. Her eyes had locked onto Santana's face, and though the brunette didn't know it, her presence was calming. As Santana closed her eyes again with the resumption of her words, Dani found herself examining the face with its angular nose, high cheekbones, and long, trembling, dark eyelashes.

_"When the tears come streaming down your face; when you lose something you can't replace. When you love someone, but it goes to waste, could it be worse?"_ Dani was watching her in earnest now; when Santana found the young woman's eyes, she felt something in her drifting slowly, heavily down as her stomach dropped out, leaving a subtle, fluttery absence that spoke of butterflies. So lost in the deep pools of brown and yellow and hazel and green, Santana hadn't even realized that she had lain down beside Dani, or that they now lay so close that their noses nearly touched. She could have touched her, kissed her, even, but she was lost.

_"Lights will guide you home."_ Her hands were caught in a web of soft platinum blonde. Dani's breathing had settled to a calm, normal rhythm. _"And ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you."_ She paused, waiting to see if Dani was asleep. Her eyelids were fluttering gently, almost on the verge of descending, as if she was falling slowly into safety. Santana's voice continued to rise and fall.

_"High up above or down below, when you're too in love to let it go."_ There was hardly any stiffness left to Dani's body, as she began to relax into the gentle caress of Santana's hands. _"But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth."_ She was beginning to fall too, though into what, she didn't know.

Dani's eyes were fully closed.

_"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you."_ As the last, quavering note faded into the infinite closeness of space between them, leaving behind a silence less profound than it was comforting, still neither of them spoke. Neither realized that in their unsteadiness, they had moved together so that Dani was cradled gently in Santana's arms. The warmth, the closeness; the strong arms that held her — even her head tucked into the crook of Santana's neck — none of it was noticed.

Uncertain safety, wavering unsteadiness, and a fragile bit of hope; perhaps Dani could, in time, be grounded by something new. She had never fallen so deeply or intensely into someone's eyes. She didn't expect that Santana had just then, either, but Santana _had._ Dani's eyes were like bottomless pools.

Santana had drowned.

 


	4. Grounded, Shattered Spaces

It felt like she was always waking up. Usually she liked to avoid daytime because it meant coping with things she didn't like to face, but Dani was feeling unusually comfortable this morning. She didn't expect it would be a continuous habit, but she figured she would revel in the rare sensation of relaxation for as long as possible.

There were arms around her.

It was a complete and utter mystery to Dani why she felt so entirely secure in the Latina's warm embrace. She despised being touched as a general rule; physical contact was a catalyst for nausea, panic, and bruises, as far as she had previously been concerned. Yet, for some completely insane reason, she didn't mind this.

Hit in the eye by a ray of sunlight, Dani shifted beneath her blankets, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl. At the feeling of movement, however, Santana stirred slightly, mumbling something inaudible. Dani froze, but before she could attempt to repair the damage, the brunette's long lashes fluttered open, and she was met with striking dark chocolate eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Good morning," Santana murmured, a soft smile gracing her drowsy features. Dani swallowed hard at the husky timbre of the voice, still rough with sleep.

"Morning," she managed to say back in a choked whisper that betrayed her nervousness. Santana's smile grew wider, though it remained easy and relaxed.

Dani was unsure; there were two extremely clear options plastered before her. She could run, and either injure herself further, escape again to the perilous city streets, or be caught before she reached the door and most likely not make it even as far as the narrow hallway. On the other hand, she could stay put exactly where she was, and chance getting a good slap. She was prone to running — it was generally safer — but this time, that wasn't necessarily the case. Her injuries needed to heal before she could handle being on the streets again.

She decided not to move.

As if reading the wavering decisions in her eyes, Santana's eyes softened with an emotion that was unfamiliar to Dani.

"Hey, hey," she whispered, gently nestling the girl deeper in her embrace. "It's okay, little one. You're safe here." Something in the gentle tone calmed Dani, and she felt her tense body relaxing slightly against the Latina's. She couldn't place exactly what the reason for it was, but she knew that she felt safer in that moment than she could ever remember feeling. The warm, strong arms and gentle touch, the reassuring tone of voice; the softness of the body pressed to hers — all were completely unfamiliar. Not only that, but she didn't _understand._ Why was Santana doing this?

She was practically cradling the smaller girl like a lover; what was going on? Where were the smacks, the punches; the objects hurled against the wall to shatter by her head, permeate her fragile skin? She didn't understand why she was being treated so gently, like an injured bird cradled in the palm of a hand. She had never gone so long without being mistreated, and the sensation was completely foreign.

On the other end of the arms, Santana was enduring an inner hurricane of her own, albeit one that was far less daunting in its complexity. The only solid truth that she had been able to uncover was that this feeling — whatever it was — was entirely new to her. It had begun with eyes; shining eyes in the perverse shadows of an alley, almost obscured by bloody hands and ugly words and garbage cans. Those eyes had sucked her in like a toy ship down a bathtub drain. And even that thought had taken hours to recover, sifting through layers of dirt to finally claw her way down to the barren truth of it all.

She couldn't face analyzing right now; she had other priorities. But that didn't mean that she was letting it go.

"Are you hungry?" The words startled both of them from their deep meandering of thoughts, though they had escaped Santana's mouth. Certain parts of her brain seemed to be ahead of others at the moment. She tuned back in just in time to see Dani cringe slightly, feeling her muscles contract in anxiety. "Hey, are you okay? What — " it registered with her that the other girl was crying, tears falling thickly from her eyes as she attempted to turn away. Completely befuddled at the strange shift in character, she pulled back enough to look her in the eye. She cupped Dani's cheek tenderly, being sure to move slowly so as not to frighten her.

"Hey there pretty girl, what's wrong?" she crooned softly, shifting to lean up on her elbows and look down at the smaller girl beneath her. Dani merely whimpered, attempting to wriggle away through the entanglement of sheets, her eyes squeezing tightly shut as her body tensed. Santana, recognizing the onset of an anxiety attack stirring to life, quickly sought for a way to calm her down before fully fledged panic set it. Noticing that the sheets were raveled tightly and had begun to constrict the other girl's mobility, she swiftly untangled them and cast them in a haphazard heap onto the floor. She didn't know what had instigated Dani's sudden surge of panic, but she needed to stop it before the girl got too trapped in her flashbacks.

Dani had entered a state of pure terror as soon as Santana had mentioned eating. Santana didn't know; it wasn't her fault. She _couldn't_ know that it was the same phrase her stepfather had needled her with for years, taunting her every night as he ate the full meal she had been forced to prepare. She had never been permitted to partake; she had tried once, only to be denied food completely for over a week as a result. It wasn't Santana's fault. But it had started the roll of tormenting voices, creeping in from every direction as they faded in and out of high volume.

Santana was surprisingly aware of how to cope with the situation; she had no idea what in particular was tormenting Dani, but she recognized the signs of an approaching panic attack. In any other situation, she would have been at a total loss, but she supposed that in this instance she was lucky — though the circumstances surrounding the luck were unfortunate in themselves. During weekends, she had spent countless hours babysitting Rachel's toddler nephew, Theodore, who was on the autism spectrum. It had been partly a way to pay Rachel back for allowing her to share the loft, but now the hours spent dealing with meltdowns were paying off.

Granted, an autistic toddler's meltdown was nowhere near the same as the actions of a panicked and abused young woman, but the symptoms were similar enough that she was confident she could work with it.

Dani was altering between frightened gasps and quiet whimpers, attempting to throw herself off the bed. She could hear his voice everywhere, emerging from all directions to drive its way into her skull over and over with the force of a heavy stone. It was only a matter of time before the screaming began; she could feel it, like a desperate animal clawing its way up her trachea and out of her throat. She needed something to stop it, and fast, otherwise she would tumble off the edge into a state of all-consuming terror that would take hours to retrieve herself from.

Just as the last part of her was losing awareness of the situation, she felt someone's hands on her, grasping her arms to fold them across her own chest. She had a sense of momentary confusion before she was swept away again by the vision of the tall man, looming large and ominous over her as she lay in the corner of a room, eight years old again. But then there it was again — the hands, soft and gentle, breaking up the memory, if only for a moment, as they swept her hair to the side, gathering it and tying it in one deft motion to remove it from her face. Then there they were again, lifting her head (cautiously cradling her neck) to slip a pillow beneath her. Again, to cover her thrashing body in a light cotton blanket and wrapping her in it carefully, as if to mimic a cocoon.

It was the action that brought her flying closest back to earth, though not for long, as part of her brain registered what was happening. The swaddling — it was a method they had when she was still a teenager; when she had not yet left the hands of government care. The thought calmed her only slightly; the people who had always done this had never harmed her.

Unfortunately, the respite was very brief, and she was swept away again. _Now he was here in earnest, standing over her body lying limp and lifeless on the kitchen floor. The shattered glass was crunchy beneath her head; she could feel it pressing into the scraps of skin still exposed, no jagged edges, only pressure. He wasn't even touching her yet, not physically, but he was everywhere, in her ears and eyes and beneath the thin crust of her skin. It was all there was. His voice. The insults. Words. Words and words; words upon other words, intertwining and reestablishing, lingering and redefining every time they dared to move. Shouting. Whispering. Swelling._

Then another voice; different, quieter, instructing her to breathe, to inhale. _In through your nose and out through your mouth,_ they ordered calmly. _Deep breaths. Breathe with me now. In. Out. In. Out. That's good. Good girl. Nice and steady, okay? Slow breaths. Take your time._ She was responding with her body, though her mind had not yet caught up with what she was doing. She felt herself following the commands, unconsciously echoing the breathing that she could hear but not see; that belonged to the voice that was so steady and collected, remaining entirely calm.

More words. More scattered phrases, fitting through the gaps in the garbled memories and locking securely into place. Phrases like _good girl_ and _you're doing so well_ and _focus on the sound of my voice_. And then her mind was slowing down from its wild spiral, cruising to a spinning stop as she registered that she was not being suffocated, or crushed, or aimed at by glasses. That she was lying in a bed with Santana, who had somehow inexplicably managed to lure her back from the terror of her flashbacks. Santana, whom she for some reason was insanely beginning to trust. Santana, where she felt safe. Santana.

She brought herself back with a jolting sob, alerting her patient companion to her reemergence from the broken memories as she began to cry in earnest, all traces of panic in her system gone, instead to be replaced by despair and overwhelming fear and a sense of deep, mortal shame. It wasn't new — she had been having episodes of such a nature since her early childhood — but it didn't make the situation any less embarrassing. She felt ludicrous, as if she had been made to strip naked before a large crowd of people and then forced to dance around a totem pole — she had never felt both so frightened and so greatly ashamed.

Santana was holding her again, cradling the broken, sobbing girl against her chest as wave after wave of coexisting despair and desperation crashed through her. She was moving them, lying on her back before tugging Dani gently down to lie on top of her, still enveloped in her blanket, the fabric easy against her hair-triggered skin. She was singing — no, humming; murmuring without words in a tune of repetitive, soothing scales not unlike a lullaby. There was a drum following her — no — it was a heartbeat, slow and steady and infinitely soothing. Steady. Reliable.

Santana held Dani close as she felt the first the panic and then the energy drain gradually from Dani's body, leaving her limp and exhausted on top of her. The trembling was slowly dissipating, followed by the relief of the nausea, and then, finally, the fear. There came a great calm, a lulling silence broken only by the hitched breathing that was the aftermath of Dani's desperate, wracking sobs. It was the same sort of quiet that seems to still an ocean when the violent waves and storms have ceased; a low, slowly rocking lull.

Santana didn't know how in the hell she was going to do this; only a few days ago she had been so eager for the job of tending to the blonde, only to discover how incomprehensibly difficult any form of recovery was going to be. She hadn't the faintest clue what she had been thinking — clearly she had entertained some sort of fancy of Florence-Nightingale-meets-helpless-victim but any thought of that had long ago been banished, to be replaced with the reality that it was.

Taking care of Dani was going to be the most taxing thing that Santana had ever encountered. And yet, somehow, with that recognition came an even firmer resolution.

Santana was going to do it. She didn't know how the hell she would manage it, or if it was even possible, but she was resolved on one point, and one point alone: she was going to help Dani.

She was going to lead her out of the pain with patience, with care, and with a love that she was determined to prove to the girl existed. She would be damned if she would allow herself to be another one of those plastic people — those shallow assholes who never put their money where their mouth was. She was going to fight for Dani like no one had ever fought for her before. And she was going to fucking _conquer_ , dammit.

She needed to.

Not for her, but for Dani.

* * *

Once every tangible knot of stress had unwound itself from Dani's body, and after her ragged breathing had long since swayed itself into an easier rhythm, Santana gingerly stroked the thin shoulder blades that had quivered with sobs. When the simple action was met with no particularly alarmed response, she whispered quietly to the girl, her voice nearly inaudible for its gentleness.

"I'm going to move you, okay?" she warned softly, waiting patiently for a response before acting. It took a long moment of heavy contemplation before Dani permitted a tiny nod, fluffy strands of hair brushing across the exposed skin of Santana's collarbone. Though an abrupt tendril of warmth shot through her at the sensation, the brunette focused on getting them safely into an upright position. This was a slightly complicated process, due to Dani's legs still being rendered immobile by the blanket.

Once up, Santana carefully tucked an arm beneath Dani's legs, wrapping the other securely around the girl's back and shoulders. She knew the girl was still severely injured, and, though anxious to move them, kept her motions slow and cautious. She paused after settling the girl in her arms, readjusting and asserting that her grip couldn't possibly cause the blonde discomfort; she stood, and made her way across the room.

Dani let out a squeal of surprise at the sensation of sudden movement; the awkward rocking motion clearly meant that she was being carried. Before she could think, she buried her face in Santana's shirt, unwilling to open her eyes. With her nose pressed against the other woman, she caught the scent of fresh laundry and rain mixed with faint perfume — the same scent that had permeated the pillows. Quiet, feeling the warmth of the Santana's skin radiating against her cheek, Dani breathed deeply as subtly as she could, feeling an immense sense of calm washing over her like a breeze. Very quietly, she let out a tiny sigh.

Though she suspected Dani had tried to conceal it, Santana smiled at the sound and lightly adjusted the weight of the small body in her arms. Dani was so little; she weighed almost nothing, even compared to Rachel, whom Santana had been forced tote around after she broke her ankle onstage. She was so badly undernourished; though Santana could clearly see that her body was naturally curvy and well filled-out, the blonde had spent months on the streets. Her hipbones were sharp, and her ribs stuck out.

They would have to remedy that.

Emerging into the living room after cautiously traversing the short stretch of hallway, Santana paused by the couch, continuing the soothing rocking of her arms as she whispered to Dani.

"I'm going to help you get settled on the couch, okay sweetheart?" Dani nodded, eyes still closed. Figuring she shouldn't push it, the Latina gently laid her down on the sofa, settling her back against the cushions. She covered the young woman with a soft blanket — probably Rachel's, considering it was adorned with stars — and brushed a strand of hair from her face before straightening up. She needed to get some food into Dani before she passed out. Surely the girl couldn't have been eating enough before she arrived, and going to the hospital was the last thing that any of them wanted to do.

As Santana began to walk towards the kitchen, Dani's voice brought her to a halt.

"Where are you going?" Santana turned to see the blonde's eyes drooping halfway open, heavy with sleep despite their obvious worry. She smiled, coming back to crouch beside the nervous blonde.

"I'm making you some food," she told her softly, stroking soft hair. "I'd like you to eat some of it for me, please," she continued, seeing panic rise again in the blonde's eyes. "You've been hurt, Dani, badly, and something tells me that you've never really gotten enough to eat." Tears began to pool in Dani's eyes.

"I — I just — I've . . . never really been allowed to eat before. I always had t — to steal to get food," she stumbled, her words breaking more from weakness and exhaustion than anxiety. She just wanted to sleep.

"That's never going to happen to you again, Dani," the Latina replied seriously. Her tone was so low and sincere that Dani couldn't help but consider believing her. "I know you've had it rough — rough doesn't even begin to cut it — but I'm going to take care of you now. I'm going to make sure that you're fed, and warm, and comfortable, and I will _never_ let anyone hurt you again. You deserve to be safe," Santana said firmly.

Dani was nothing short of bewildered; weren't people _supposed_ to hurt her? She had gone through almost her entire life being told that she was worthless, that she _deserved_ the pain that was delivered to her. Did Santana not know, or was she just ignoring it? Would she really take care of her?

Santana touched her face gently one last time before standing once more, Dani watching her as she moved to the kitchen and began to rummage through the various cupboards. Just watching the Latina move so confidently in her own home made Dani wonder what was wrong with her that wasn't with other people.

Did she really deserve to be taken care of?

* * *

Dani opened her mouth obediently, allowing Santana to spoon-feed her like a baby bird. Normally, she would protest, insisting that she shouldn't eat someone else's food or that she should at least do it herself, but she was hungry. Extremely hungry, in fact; the sandwiches and soup she had eaten yesterday felt like mere crumbs — not that she was used to eating heavily.

Santana's touch was exceedingly gentle as she cradled Dani's jaw in her hand, murmuring to her softly as she ate. Intermittently between swallows, Dani found her eyes flickering upwards to lock with the taller girl's, at first nervous, before settling. Santana wasn't hurting her.

_She wasn't hurting her._

Concerned, Santana watched to be sure that Dani consumed every spoonful of the warm soup. She was well aware that after not having eaten properly, the blonde might be uncomfortable with a large amount of food, so she only coaxed a small serving into her. However, she needed to make sure that she ate. If Dani had to go to the hospital, it would be an intensely traumatic experience; Blaine had informed them that she had made clear that under no circumstances did she want to see doctors in a hospital setting.

Setting the bowl down, Santana reached for the glass of water she had filled and held it to Dani's lips, supporting the back of her neck as she sipped slowly. When she had finished, she pushed the dishes off to the side and sat down on the edge of the glass coffee table, leaning her elbows on her knees.

"Dani," she began slowly. The blonde's eyes flickered upwards briefly before she glanced quickly away again. "I want to talk to you now, just for a few minutes. Is that okay?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to frighten the vulnerable girl. Dani nodded quickly, staring at her own hands clasped in her lap. "Can you tell me yes, please, just so that I know for sure? You can stop me at any time if you feel uncomfortable, all right? Please stop me." Still not braving the intense gaze of the brunette, Dani nodded again with her eyes still fastened to her interlocked fingers.

"Yes." Her voice was rough from tears. She didn't want to talk, but she figured that she had to. Santana would probably make her whether she wanted to or not.

Seeing the tenseness in the younger woman's body, Santana smiled and slipped off of the coffee table to kneel beside the couch, her head level with the blonde's.

"Dani, you don't have to worry with me. I'll never punish you for not wanting to talk," she said sincerely. Dani didn't respond. When she sensed that no reply was coming, Santana sighed. She might as well get this over with.

"Dani, you're going to need to stay here for a long time — probably months," she said calmly. She hoped that Dani wouldn't get scared. "Your injuries are severe, and we can't have you roaming around Manhattan in the state that you're in now. You're sick, and while that's probably mostly weakness due to lack of food and proper care, you could become severely ill if we don't take good care of you." Santana paused, eyeing the girl carefully to be sure that she wasn't causing any extreme stress. "Are you all right with me talking right now?" Dani nodded quickly; at the movement, Santana breathed in slowly. She hated this; hated verbalizing every horrible deed that had been committed against the young, fragile woman in front of her, but she knew that it was necessary. Dani needed to know what to expect.

"As long as you're here, I think I should let you know what to expect from living with us," she continued. "You won't be doing any work — yes, I saw how you organized my room, and that was very sweet of you, but you're in no state to be working," she added firmly. "Someone will need to assess your injuries every couple of days; if you'd prefer that to be Blaine over one of the three of us, that's perfectly fine. I'm going to be in charge of taking care of you, because I'm the only one who can stay home with you all day. You can do whatever you want in this apartment, Dani; I mean anything. You can play an instrument if you'd like; you can read, you can sleep; anything. You will never have to ask if anything is okay. All right?" She still wasn't looking up, and Santana needed to make sure that she was all right. She was accustomed to silence with the blonde, but she didn't want to add extra stress to what Dani was already feeling.

"Dani, could you look at me please, honey?" Her voice was so soft, brimming with warmth, that Dani couldn't help herself. Slowly, she raised her head, making lasting eye contact for the first time since the night before. Santana smiled reassuringly. "Thank you. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Can I keep going?" Dani didn't nod, but her eyes didn't protest, either; Santana decided to try for more and hope that the information wouldn't become too overwhelming.

"You're going to eat here," she said seriously, holding eye contact. "I know you're not used to a lot of food, so I'll ease you into it, but I'm going to make sure that you get enough nourishment. I'm also going to make sure you get enough sleep, and that you're warm, because I know it's cold in New York at this time of year, and you're too little right now to hold much of your own heat by yourself. You can use my shower to stay clean — if you need help with anything, let me know. Rachel is buying you shampoo and soap, and you can use one of our towels. Obviously, you don't have any clothes of your own with you, so you can just — "

"I do," Dani said softly, not wanting to interrupt but deciding that cutting across Santana would be less offensive than borrowing her clothes. "They're in the alley where you found me. I was using it as a hideout before . . ." she trailed off, realizing what she had been about to say, and curling in on herself reflexively. Santana knew better than to touch her when she was uneasy, so she settled for sending her a comforting look.

"That's perfectly fine; I can ask Kurt to get them for you if you'd like," she reassured, willing Dani to realize that she was safe. "In the mean time, you can wear mine. Now I just have one more thing that I want you to hear, okay?" she asked. Dani shrugged.

"Dani, I know you're not going to believe me for a while, but I hope that you will eventually see that none of us will ever hurt you," Santana said quietly. "We're going to take care of you, here. I'm not the best at being . . . a very sweet person," she decided upon hesitantly. "But I'm gentle. I'm going to be very careful with you, especially while you're still injured, and I won't ever raise a hand to you."

"You will," Dani whispered, surprising even herself. She hadn't meant to speak; the words had fallen from her lips of their own accord. Panic slowly rose up from her chest, into her throat, clawing its way out. "They always do. You're going to hurt me; someone will hurt me and someone will rescue me and then it'll all happen all over again and it'll never stop and I'll just keep getting tossed around and I'll _never stop feeling like this!"_ She hadn't realized she was screaming; desperation had finally dug its way in and it wasn't letting go. It was all too much — too much fear, too much broken hope and shredded trust. _I can't do this anymore._

It was as though the world had no sound.

There was the sensation that cotton had been stuffed into her ears, dulling all noise – even the sound of her own screams, piercing, desperate; rough and cracking in their pitch. Words were not a part of any sound. She had curled herself into a ball, sitting up now, not even feeling the stabbing pain flashing across her ribcage. Rocking back and forth. Back and forth.

There was no sound, only light. Only sunlight, simple, illuminating the dust motes as it brightened the kitchen, the living room; streaming in through the pale windows. No sound, no clear vision; only fragments of broken eyes, dark circles, messy hair; the angular nose of the woman who struggled to hold her down, calm her. Lips were moving, but there was no sound.

She was only being held. The woman had pulled her off the couch to the floor, shoving the coffee table out of the way and laying her down gently on her side, curling around her quaking, skeletal back. Someone was grasping her wrists with a feather-light touch, not moving; simply holding. Someone was breathing deeply against her body, pads of thumbs stroking the back of hands that were attached to wrists, that were attached to arms, that were attached to her. Someone was holding, not hurting.

_Not hurting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like putting author's notes at the end, but it would have spoiled it at the beginning. For those of you wondering, Santana's ways of calming Dani are real. I have an autistic nephew and this is often what we do with him.
> 
> Swaddling is sometimes used with people autism or anxiety. You wrap the person from the shoulders down in a blanket in a way that's tight but not restricting. The pressure is comforting and it keeps them from flailing. The breathing exercise is called square breathing: in through the nose for three count, hold for three, out through the mouth for three, wait three, repeat. Folding someone's arms across their chest keeps them from hurting themselves and anybody else, but you've got to watch if they have long nails because they might dig into their arms as a reflex.
> 
> END SCIENCE LESSON.


	5. Haven

"Are you comfortable?" Santana's voice was low and soft, soothing in Dani's ears. "Tell me if I'm hurting you." Motionless, Dani stood with her arms outstretched, dressed comfortably in Santana's old clothes. Santana had given her leave to request any one of the three of them to tend to her injuries, and had waited patiently, thinking that it would surely be Kurt. However, in a fit of trust and bravery that came from she knew not where, Dani had chosen Santana.

Santana, in her turn, was alternatingly shocked and mesmerized by the sight of the blonde exposed to such a degree. Her body was sprinkled with blooming bruises of black and blue and violet; angry red cuts, and long-healed scars etched into smooth skin. Dani shook more with exertion every moment she stood. Her breathing was delicate; Santana could see the motion catch somewhere shallow in her chest, body jolting and quaking with the effort of every breath. Watching, she wondered at the fragility of such a basic function. Her gaze followed each movement with awe as, hands pressed lightly against her quivering back, she felt the blonde draw strength from each shuddering inhalation. Her heart ached; she wasn't entirely certain that she knew what for. She was only aware of her own awe at the sensation of breaking breaths, at the knowledge that each kept a human being alive.

The motions made her frighteningly aware of her own breathing, so much that it almost felt forced. What miracles they were, that something so simple as this could create something that _lived._ All it took was the expansion of a diaphragm, the drawing of invisible oxygen to some deep recesses within them, and they were alive. And someday, with a simple motion, with the abrupt cessation of that pattern, they would no longer be alive. What of _that?_ What were humans, anyway?

There was beauty, too, in the dark ink that wound itself across the expanse of skin, masking a selection of particular injuries; decorating scars in fragile swirls.

As she trailed gentle hands down the trembling, tired body, eyes scrutinizing every tiny injury, Santana took special care in her motions. With each jerk of the fragile form, she traced her fingertips reverently over the curving, balanced ink. Smoothing over the jagged edges left by knives; caressing where weak muscles joined and contracted in nervous, skittering jolts, she brushed the pads of her thumbs down sloping hollows in delicate bones. It was a movement almost of worship; hardly of speculation. A swift undercurrent of rapt attention, fascination, and she was abruptly more tender in her movements that she had known it was possible to be.

Was this what it was to be alive?

Pressing her hands deeper into the silken crevices of fractured shoulder blades, she wrapped the edges of her thumbs around rifts in skin.

"Let's try to calm that breathing, okay?" Her gaze travelled up to meet closed eyelids. Fingertips pressed ever so lightly into battered skin. "Dani. Please." Cold lashes fluttered open, and she was drowning in a sea of coffee and hazelnut and darker cocoa. A perfect Mochaccino.

"I want you to try to fill your lungs up — as full as they can go. Slowly. Can you do that for me?" She was nodding, at least. That was an improvement over her usual cowed silence. She drew a shaky breath, so gradually that it was almost painful to witness; it stuck, and she began to cough, struggling for air. Immediately, there was comfort — gentle hands in her hair, twisting the end of a soft lock of blonde, before laying easy pressure to her ribcage.

"Too quick, baby girl. Let's try it together, on my count — one, two, three . . . there you go, nice and slow. Hold it for a second. Now let it out; that's a good girl. Easy now." Dani released her lungs with a painful gasp, skeletal hands flying up to clutch at her chest. Her entire body seemed to spasm, and then she was falling slightly, losing her balance as her knees buckled under her. Santana caught her, encircling her waist with a steadying arm to hold her for a moment. She only released her when she was certain the blonde could stand on her own.

"I've got you, honey. That's okay. You were doing _so_ well," she soothed, sweeping hair away from pained dark eyes. They were almost incredulous.

Thinking hard, Santana bit her lip as she sought for a way to make this work for Dani. As much as she wanted to blame Dani's difficulty on the severity of her injuries, part of her wondered if this might not have psychological connotations to it. Was Dani breathing this way because of injuries alone, or because of something else as well?

There was nothing for it but to ask.

"Dani . . ." she began uneasily. Those beautiful eyes flickered down to meet hers, and she briefly lost control of her train of thought. Santana swallowed. She wasn't sure how to phrase this without causing unnecessary worry. "Have you . . . do you always have trouble breathing?" Dani's eyes darted away, a sort of fright seeming to seize them. Unthinkingly, Santana traced patterns on the tops of her shoulders, skin whispering across skin comfortingly. Dani didn't remove her eyes from the blank paleness of the wall when she spoke.

"I'm a waste of space." Santana's head jerked up.

"What?" Dani still refused to meet her gaze, holding her eyes to the wall as if engaged in some sort of invisible staring contest with the plaster.

"I'm a waste of space. I should be smaller. I take away oxygen from the people who actually deserve it." It sounded almost like a recitation, as if she had been forced to stand there, just as she was, and repeat those exact words to the plaster over and over again thousands of times before. Santana closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a great surge of fury wash over her abruptly. God damn it. How dare those monsters do this to another living being. _It's not their right to tell another person how much their life is worth,_ she thought angrily, almost surprised at herself for the amount of pure hatred coursing through her body.

God _damn_ it.

"Dani," Santana breathed out slowly at last. "Whoever told you that was wrong, okay? You deserve it just as much as they do." Unbelievable. She sounded like some sort of pretentious guidance counselor. She was standing here trying to convince someone that it was okay for them to _breathe._

This was _insane._

"I don't."

"You do." She didn't know why she sounded almost angry; only that Dani shifted her eyes back in her direction at the tone. She appeared to be almost frightened. Santana allowed her eyes to soften as she looked back into the blonde's nervous face. "Dani, honey," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind the young woman's ear. "You are just as deserving of space and air as anybody else in this world, if not more. No, I want you to listen to me, please," she added gently, as Dani showed every sign of protesting. "My job is to get you healthy. You're sick and undernourished and I'm going to take care of you even after that's no longer the case." Dani almost seemed to tremble.

"But I — "

"Dani, _please,"_ Santana pleaded, startling herself with how desperate she sounded. "Honey, you need to be able to breathe normally. I'm going to help you with that, but I need you to try, okay?" Tears began to prick at the corners of Dani's eyes. She bit her lower lip hard, her beautiful features a masked grimace of pain.

"I — I don't know if — if I c — can," she stammered. Santana watched her carefully, uncertain. She wasn't sure if to touch her now would send her into a panic. She decided not to risk it; calming her would take more energy than she currently had.  
"Do you want to try?" she asked gently at last. Through her tears, Dani nodded. Santana sighed. This was going to take a lot of work.

"Okay," she breathed out. "I want you to do something for me. I'm going to try to get you to take as deep of breaths as possible, okay? But I'm going to have to touch you to do it. If you want me to stop, you need to tell me, okay?" Dani nodded slowly, cheeks flushed with exertion.

"Okay," she whispered. Santana gave her a look that served as a warning.

"I'm going to do it now," she cautioned. When she received another nod in conformation, she moved. One slid hand around to Dani's back, pressing flat against her shoulders. Carefully, she moved the other to her waist, feeling her weak abdomen shudder with the realization that she was being touched. At the slight shiver, Santana paused, hesitant, realizing that this might be too much.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again. She was so absorbed in the technicalities of the issue that she took no note of the new and unconscious tenderness that had entered her tone, but Dani noticed, and was shaken. Automatically, she looked away in an attempt to calm herself; she knew that if she looked into Santana's eyes, it would all be over. The raw emotion that they shared with every rapid glance was enough to unnerve her so deeply that her heart clawed itself loose from her chest and went scrambling around in the hairpin turns of her stomach.

Hands trembling with something she could not name, Dani allowed her eyes to flutter closed at the soft touch of Santana's hands. The sensation of Santana's warm skin pressed to hers made her heart flutter. The way she had touched her tattoos so reverently had made her trembly enough in itself, but this . . . these gentle, intentional touches were unspeakably more intimate.

"I'm fine," she responded automatically. _Not really,_ she added in her head. She barely registered Santana whispering a quiet _okay_ before realizing that she needed to be paying attention. She breathed in deeply as Santana instructed her, feeling the hand on her back support her as the one resting on her diaphragm increased its pressure, startling her body into holding the air inside. Almost immediately, however, the coughing began again, her lungs quivering with the effort. She felt her legs give out beneath her, followed by a second's worth of a horrible lost sensation in her stomach before she was being held up, caught by a safety net of strong arms and being nestled into the curves of a warm body.

"Okay honey, never mind. Let's do this later. I still need to check on your injuries, but then I'm going to bring you out to the living room. It's family night." Dani didn't have the energy or the attention to spare to wonder what family night could be. Her entire focus at the moment was on trying to keep ahold of her body and mind. It felt as though she were being tugged apart from all directions, so that if she happened to lose her concentration for even so much as a second, the entire universe would fly apart.

The only thing keeping her grounded was the knowledge that she was in Santana's arms, and that so long as she stayed there, Santana would not let her fall.

Keeping her cradled in her arms like a baby, Santana lowered Dani to the bed, first arranging a pile of pillows beneath her so that her back would not be injured further. In fact, as she saw a tiny wince betray Dani's discomfort, she added several more, so that the injured girl rested comfortably in a nest of pillows and warm blankets. She decided to get the rest of the ordeal over with rather quickly, so as to prevent any further trauma. A more thorough examination could be made later on.

Dani tried hard to conceal a whimper as Santana increased the pressure on her cracked ribs. To her chagrin, it didn't appear to work; Santana glanced up immediately and saw the pain written across her face.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly. "I know it hurts, but I'm going to have to take care of this properly." Swiftly, she stepped into the little bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water and returning in a flash to Dani's side. She spoke to her soothingly as she gently washed the bruised area of her ribcage, murmuring nonsense words that were meant to console, not to enlighten. Dani hissed out in pain as Santana attempted to wrap a bandage around her body, a hand unconsciously swatting out to bat the brunette away.

On the instant, Dani froze, eyes wide as she realized what she had done. She began to speak, to apologize before a blow could come, but once again, Santana cut her off with a combination of a soft tone and gentle words, distracting her long enough so that the bandage was on before she could even notice what had happened.

"There you go sweetheart," Santana murmured, clipping it on with one deft movement of her slender hands. She straightened up, and began to search for a shirt before realizing that the blonde now lay uncovered but for a bra and the thin bandage. Immediately, she returned to the bed, snatching up a warm fleece NYADA blanket and tucking it around the upper half of Dani's body. In a moment, she was back again, this time in possession of a warm long-sleeved shirt, heavy sweatpants, and a thick hoodie.

"You want to do this yourself, or do you need my help?" she asked. Dani's eyes went slightly wide, but she sat up and reached out for the clothing.

"You don't need to help." Her voice was nearly inaudible; brown eyes remained downcast. Santana held back the hoodie patiently.

"Dani, I wasn't asking about me. I was asking if you needed help." Dani stiffened, fear invading her expression and bringing a look of terror into her eyes. Her head was bent faster than Santana could speak, as, with a grip so hard it turned her bruised knuckles white, she clutched spasmodically at the covers.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry; I should have listened better — I should have listened — please don't punish me; I won't forget next time, I promise, please don't — "

"Dani. Dani! _Dani!"_ Santana was finally forced to shout in order to be heard over the smaller girl's sudden tirade of desperate pleas. "You don't need to apologize. I'm not going to punish you. I will _never_ punish you. You didn't do anything wrong." But Dani wasn't convinced. Wasn't this what they all did? They all played nice, and then they waited until she slipped up, and they hurt her. She was going to get punished again. She had thought — or maybe she had hoped — that Santana wouldn't hurt her, but she shouldn't have wasted her precious hope. They all hurt her in the end.

When the hand came into contact with her cheek, she flinched and cried out, already halfway feeling the pain of the backhanded slap.

But it wasn't a slap.

It was a caress.

The cry of pain caught in her throat, to be replaced by a gasp of mingled shock and relief. Slowly, her eyes fluttered closed as the sensation of a soft, warm touch started out as fingertips, and then transformed into a hand that curved to fit the side of her face, a thumb tenderly following the shape of her cheekbone. Through her haze of surprise and exhausted relief, she felt its twin rise up so that Santana was cradling her face in both hands.

No one had ever touched her so gently before.

This touch was so warm, so tender, that she could hardly believe it was real. She had been smashed and bruised for as long a time as she could call back to mind; she had been shattered and destroyed and sifted as if through a sieve of agony. But in all her years of being broken, Dani had never experienced this kind of fragility. Held with the sense of such pure care and devotion behind every touch, she felt as though she was a wounded wild creature, unstable and completely at the mercy of anyone who happened upon her. For the first time, she felt completely and utterly human, and she was surprised at the availability of her humanity. For so long, she had been told that she was worth nothing, that she was a waste of life and that no one would ever feel anything for her but revulsion, disgust, and hatred. Now she was being treated with gentleness, as if she, too, were a human being capable of feeling love and hope and agony.

She felt as if she were a newborn who had just laid its eyes on the sun.

Santana had handled her carefully before, but never before had she expected anguish and been given kindness instead. It was as if she were a blind person seeing water, a paralyzed child suddenly being able to run. Instead of suffering where she expected to find it, Santana had shown her joy.

It was entirely overwhelming.

Dani found herself to be gasping uncontrollably, gripping desperately at the hands that would not bring her pain. Her body shook with tremors that nearly made her convulse; she was caught in an overload of her mind and body combining in waves of relieved fear and shock and all-encompassing exhilaration. As she quaked with uncontainable sensations, Santana's touch remained. She wiped away her tears.

When her eyes finally opened, Dani found Santana's dark eyes staring straight back at her, reserved but kind, quiet yet guarded, waiting for her to see.

"You're safe." At the sound of those two words, her universe flew apart, and she was crying, but not out of fear. All at once, Dani's body was wracked with sobs. Whether Santana reached for her, or whether she fell on her own, it was not certain, but somehow, she ended up cradled in Santana's arms. She clutched tightly at Santana's shirt as if realizing for the first time that they were both human. Santana, to her credit, only pulled her closer and whispered sweet nothings into thick platinum hair.

The only other sound was of a stray heartbeat, and the far-off and yet nearby silent cracking that told of the universe splintering apart as it was reborn.

* * *

"So Dani, Santana tells me that you like music."

They were seated around the dining room table, spaced oddly apart among leagues of vacant chairs. At first, Dani had balked at the combined notions of being around Rachel and Kurt, eating, eating in front of people, and eating around Rachel and Kurt. She had hardly spoken a word since the incident earlier that day, and while Santana seemed to understand the reason for her silence, she had suggested gently that perhaps it would be best to meet the other two inhabitants of the apartment. It would need to be done eventually, and now appeared to be as good a time as ever.

Dani looked up in slight alarm at the words directed towards her, panicking somewhat as she was forced to choose between swallowing and a response. In what seemed to be an appropriate compromise, she settled for a nod. The motion was accepted, and she breathed more easily. Being around people was so _stressful._

"Rachel, your food is on your plate, not Dani's face." Caught staring unabashedly for the third time that night, Rachel startled, and blushed. At once, she began to stammer an apology, but was cut off by a swift glare from Santana. She sat up straighter in her chair with the pompous, distinctly ruffled look of a chicken discovered in the act of laying an egg.

"I'm only curious, Santana."

"Don't be." Santana's voice cut across low and harsh, signaling the end of that thread of conversation. An uncomfortable silence followed, in which the only sound was the squeak of Rachel pushing kidney beans aimlessly around on her plate. Dani's hands twitched nervously at the sound, causing her to drop her fork; Santana noticed. "Rachel. Stop." A cough from Kurt, followed by a derisive roll of dark eyes.

"Santana." A warning. Another eye roll.

"Rachel, stop . . . please."

"Thank you. Now if you two would kindly cease acting like children, I would like to enjoy my dinner," Kurt said primly, raising his napkin to daintily dab at his lips. The two brunette women caught each other's gaze; a raucous laugh burst out uncontrollably, causing Dani to jump in frightened consternation and necessitating Kurt's conveyance of a scathing glance down the table. It was received by Rachel with a saucy grin.

"Ms Berry, if you do not put an immediate end to this most horrifically discourteous disruption of the peace, I will be most apt to . . ."

"Spare us, Kurt, please."

"Rachel, I am merely attempting to . . ."

"Guys! Shut up! You're scaring her," Santana broke in angrily, taking a moment to comfort Dani, who had scrunched herself into taking up as small a portion of her chair as possible. Immediately, the other two cease their bickering. Kurt had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry Dani," he apologized. While the blonde made no move to smile, she at least made the effort to meet his contrite gaze across the tabletop. For a moment, quiet eyes roved silent ones, and an understanding was established. Santana hissed.

"Rachel, I'm warning you . . ."

"I'm sorry Dani," Rachel broke across, with a pointed glare sent in the direction of the taller brunette. "I think we all forget that we can be a little overwhelming." This time when Dani looked up, she managed a small smile. Rachel beamed right back.

"There we go!" she said enthusiastically. Dani did not speak, but her eyes appeared slightly less scared than before. Both singers watched her curiously. Their eyes met across the table as they observed the two women. Dani, while exceedingly nervous, seemed to be more at ease when close to Santana. Indeed, there was very little space between them; Rachel had spotted them touching more than once. Ordinarily, she would have complained of excess displays of affection at the dinner table, but Dani appeared to become more comfortable the nearer to Santana she was. With physical contact of any sort, the tension in her broken body would visibly relax.

Rachel and Kurt exchanged a significant look as Santana stroked Dani's hair, murmuring quietly to her as she gestured towards the blonde's water glass. A sort of quivering motion seemed to pass through Dani's body; she ducked her head, and whispered something back so softly that neither of the other two could hear. Apparently Santana couldn't either.

"A little louder, please, honey," she encouraged, sweeping back a strand of hair from Dani's face. Dani closed her eyes.

"I — I don't kn — know if I'm allowed." Kurt raised a confused eyebrow at Rachel; the diva shrugged in response.

"What do you mean you don't know if you're allowed?"

"I . . . I'm not allowed to do it myself. Too stupid." Rachel's noise of anger and pity was loud enough for the entire table to hear, but no one seemed to take any notice. Santana's eyes were troubled.

"Dani, I've told you you're allowed to do anything you want here," she reminded her. "And you're certainly not too stupid to be able to do anything yourself." Dani raised one thin shoulder as a halfhearted reply.

"I — I can't." Dani seemed to collapse in on her words, as if releasing them caused her physical pain. Her voice broke; from the far end of the table, Rachel could see a tear fall into her lap. Santana's expression passed through a range of confliction emotions, alternatingly somewhere between fury and compassion, before settling on gentle determination.

"Then I'll help you until you can," she said softly. Without further ado, she reached across Dani's plate for the water glass and brought it back, brushing blonde hair out of the way before holding it to trembling lips. When Dani coughed at the first sip, she slipped an arm behind her back, supporting her fragile shoulders as she drank. Soft murmurs met the ears of the quivering young woman, quiet words of comfort and encouragement whispered into confused mazes of hair.

Rachel's barely containable _awww_ would have broken the moment, but the pair seemed to be deaf to anything besides the intense concentration they found themselves consumed by. Santana's attentiveness, coupled with the startled looks Dani kept shooting her over the rim of the water glass, made for a tableau that Kurt would be shaking from his eyes until the early hours of the morning. A certain sort of warmth seemed to radiate from Santana that far surpassed anything the two had ever seen from her before.

After several minutes of easing food into Dani, Santana looked up.

"Kurt, Rachel, do you guys want to set up a movie? I think we could all use a little relaxation tonight." Bickering over mumbled suggestions for documentaries versus musicals, Kurt and Rachel departed in high dudgeon, leaving Santana to cajole Dani into being helped into the living room. When she received no immediate response, Santana carefully bundled the smaller girl into her arms and carried her bridal style to the living room sofa. After some maneuvering, she managed to sit with Dani still in her arms, reaching for a blanket to tuck in around the stray corners of Dani's elbows and shoulders. A small sigh of relief escaped the injured woman as the weight was taken off of her ankle.

While Kurt and Rachel bustled around the living room in various states of agitation, Santana took the time to ensure the smaller woman's comfort. Twice she readjusted her grip, careful to remain cognizant of the infinite lines of bruises scattered across the frail body. Dani did not speak. It was as if her words had a habit of staying bottled up inside her, building up, and then bursting out in an emotionally fraught turmoil until there was nothing left.

Feeling the fragile motions of Dani's body as she drew her breath, Santana was at a loss to try to decipher why anyone would ever want to hurt someone in such a way. How could people be so cruel to one another? Had they no conscience whatsoever? She simply couldn't comprehend it, she realized, recalling the hateful letters carved into delicate ribs. She couldn't bring herself to understand how anyone could possibly harm something so beautiful and precious as another human being. What gave them the right to tell another person what they were worth? What gave them the right to abuse a body that was not their own?

_Every life should be cherished,_ Santana thought fiercely. _But if not cherished, then all should at least be treated with respect._ Holding Dani close, she thought of all of the wonderful people that she knew, all of the kind, open hearts and generous souls, and she wondered. Why couldn't everybody in the world be sweet and kind and understanding — like, say, Brittany?

It would be so easy for everyone to be good to one another, but noticing the obvious didn't seem to be humanity's thing.


	6. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the saga of fluff has taken momentary leave; angst ahead, ya'll. It couldn't be all rainbows and butterflies, could it? Recovery is a long-ass process that takes a lot of work and has some seriously extreme peaks and valleys. She'll get there, but it's going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> Trigger warning for self-harm.

Dani stood alone in the bathroom, skeletal fingers gripping the edge of the white porcelain sink. After watching the movie, Santana had encouraged her to shower alone, apparently torn between wanting to help and not wanting to be overly presumptuous about the role she was allowed to play. Whether Dani had read into her real intentions or not, it was not clear, but Santana wasn't about to risk pushing it too far, especially not this early in the game.

Dani didn't want to be around her, anyways. There was too much potential to be damaged beyond repair. And in any case, she couldn't trust her anymore. Not after she had scolded Rachel and Kurt during dinner — if Santana could yell at them, she could yell at Dani, and as much as the memory of gentle hands and soft words bit back at her, Dani didn't have an ounce of strength left to fight back if Santana decided to do something worse than yell and criticize. She was taller, stronger, and would probably be in the right.

Now, alone, Dani felt for the first time in weeks as if she understood exactly how much of a burden the presence of other people could be. Maybe it was a little ungrateful, pathetic even, coming from someone like her, but she had never felt so free since the day she had stepped off that first plane at JFK. She had locked the door behind her, ensuring her own privacy; now, for a whole entire forty-five minutes, she wouldn't be ensnarled in the motives of other people's lives. She was in a bathroom barely bigger than two broom closets, and the possibilities of life seemed to be limitless.

Had she been someone who was particularly vain, or even merely in the habit of looking in the mirror, she would have taken time to examine her reflection above the sink. But rather, she found herself shying away from the glass, not wanting to see the damage inflicted upon her once again. She knew what it felt like. She didn't need to see it, too.

Dani watched her hands contract around the lip of the sink in fascination, seeing the tendons bulge out and cross over prominent veins. Her nails were short and blunt, ripped in some places from where she had lashed out in the alley. Even before now, she had bitten them almost to the point of causing them to bleed. Back in the days when she had lived with her stepfather, she had needed them as defense. She never wanted them to be long again; they would only serve as a reminder of what she had gone through.

As if she didn't have reminders enough. There wasn't a moment when she didn't think about it. If someone were to comb through her memories and pick them apart, she doubted that they would find a single scrap of happiness. There wasn't room for trivial things like that, not when she was fighting for her life with every passing moment of the day. She didn't have the space or time available in her brain to even entertain the idea that there could be something besides fighting tooth and nail to stay alive. Not well. Just alive.

She wasn't going to shower just yet. She was too nauseous. Feeling the water droplets hit her skin would make her antsy enough; combine that with an upset stomach, and she'd been in here much longer than Santana thought she would. Her stomach felt like it was squirming in on itself, and her throat seemed choked. Maybe she was going to throw up.

Almost against her will, she glanced up at the mirror; saw her washed-out face and sunken eyes. Noticed the bruises on her throat. Felt the ghostlike echoes of sweaty hands.

_Yep._

When she had finished heaving the contents of her already empty stomach into the sink, Dani turned the tap on and sank down onto the closed seat of the toilet, tasting blood in the back of her throat and letting the thick stream of water run continuously so that she didn't have to hear the sound of her own hitched and ragged breathing. She was almost hiccuping, and every breath rattled around in her upper abdomen like it was determined to disjoint her already fractured ribs. She stopped trying for a moment, wondering if it would be possible to just _not breathe_ and somehow still survive. Her efforts were hindered in less than twenty seconds by the stabbing pain in her ribs, and she sucked a huge breath in, feeling acid rise to the back of her throat and sizzle from somewhere around the roof of her mouth up into her nose. She tried to force herself to be positive — sure, this sucked, but compared to all the other shit she encountered in her life? This was like what it must feel like for Jackie Chan's co-stars when they weren't around him — to be pinched playfully on the arm rather than karate-kicked in the nuts.

She was just rising halfway up off the toilet seat, her body signaling that it was time for another round of retching up the lining of her stomach, when she spotted the half-open door of the medicine cabinet behind the mirror.

The contractions in her stomach were pushed to a lower level of importance as her brain registered what she was looking at.

Grasping at the door with slippery fingers, she finally managed to catch her grip on the edge of it and pull it open. Her lack of control over her mobility was apparent; the motion nearly dislocated her arm, but Dani couldn't care less. She knew what to find in bathroom cabinets. Purposefully avoiding the pills that she knew could make things infinitely easier, she reached for the small box. Grabbing the item she was searching for, she stepped across the room and tucked it safely into a hidden pocket of her ruined pair of jeans. It would be useful sometime.

Not now, of course. But maybe later.

* * *

"Santana, may I inquire as to why are you emotionlessly downing yet another bottle of my expensive Dutch vodka? Honestly, you seem to have quite the penchant for it — perhaps we should special-order you your own?"

"Go away Lady Hummel." Kurt didn't bristle at the response; rather, since it was flat and lacked vigor, he took it as an invitation. Plumping a satin throw pillow into better shape, he sat down daintily beside his grumpy roommate, legs elegantly crossed. Santana did not move. Kurt eyed the tipping wineglass clutched by her limp hand with a crinkling of his nose. This couch was real leather; if the alcohol spilled, he would have to use his tips to pay for the cleaning.

"Ooooh, so cold! Of all things, you revert to declaring the obvious. Truly, Santana, I am _hurt,"_ he said dramatically, putting a hand over his heart in mock despair. Santana still did not shift her stare away from a photograph framed on the opposite wall, but he saw the lines around the corners of her eyes tighten.

"I said go away Kurt." Kurt coughed delicately. The sound was pointed.

"Santana, as much as I would love to obey your commands, I feel a certain duty towards you. Sulky though you may be by normal standards, I judge that your current mood is far past the boundary of crankiness brought on by heartache and an unhealthy amount of alcohol. Therefore, and as you are precariously close to spilling your wine all over my white couch, it is my obligation at this point to intervene," he finished primly. Finally, Santana's head turned slowly to give him the impassive, scathing look he knew so well.

"Go. Away," she pronounced clearly, being sure to enunciate every syllable by inserting heavy pauses between each one. Having spoken, she appeared to think her word an end to the matter, and turned away again. Kurt shifted into a slightly more earnest position, ignoring the chafing sound of suit pants on leather. Santana hadn't been in a mood like this in months, and while he would ordinarily be perfectly content to let her extinguish her inner battles alone, he felt a sudden need to let his cranky roommate know that she could confide in him if necessary.

"Santana. I won't ask you again. Now are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he tried. The attempt to assume the tone of a chastising parent failed; Santana only scowled deeper, looking more like a petulant child than ever.

"No. Now leave. Go shave your lady parts, Twinkle-Toes." Kurt sighed; he could see that this wasn't going to work. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have cared, but that wine was tilting a little to close to the rim of the glass for comfort.

He was just contemplating snatching it away from her when the apartment door was heard opening, and Rachel blew in in a gust of paper shopping bags and high-heeled boots.

"Did you know that Gunther wants me to take on an extra shift starting tomorrow? That on top of the band rehearsals and all of my work for Funny Girl, and I won't have _any_ time left to — Santana? Kurt? What's going on?" Rachel arrested her own rant at the sight of two pairs of eyes staring at her, one incredulous, the other pleading.

"Santana is refusing to abide by house rule number three," Kurt declared with a tragic sigh. Rachel's eyebrows furrowed in a frown.

"Do you mean our 'no sulking anywhere but the confines of your own room at risk of a temporary loss of pizza privileges' rule?" she asked. Kurt nodded his head in conformation; in what seemed to be less than an instant, Rachel hesitated, studying the two's expressions, before stalking over to Santana and snatching the wineglass out of her hand. Santana let out an indignant sound, reaching for it, but Rachel batted her hand away.

"Give it up, Santana. You don't get to sit here and sulk right in plain view of everybody else and then not tell us what's going on," the diva admonished sternly, brandishing a bright, red and beige plaid scarf. "I know that you've just been waiting for one of us to get home so that we can see you sitting here and ask you what's wrong. Spill." If looks could kill, Rachel would have been on the floor the moment she walked in; Santana looked as though she were ready to murder. For a moment, her eyes turned almost furious before suddenly subsiding into a meeker, wearier slow-blink gaze.

"I'm worried about her," she confessed abruptly. Rachel motioned for Kurt to scoot over on the couch, immediately taking her seat beside the Latina.

"Dani?" Santana nodded.

"She's hurt," she murmured, keeping her gaze fastened on the photograph on the opposite wall. "I mean, obviously I knew she was hurt, but she's just so _fragile._ I'm afraid she's going to get sicker if we don't do something to help."

"Where is she?" Rachel asked gently. She was careful not to lean too close, knowing that Santana might very well lash out, but spoke calmly from a distance.

"Asleep, finally," Santana sighed, settling back in the couch cushions. "She was so tired; I was getting worried. And I didn't want to make her nervous by asking you two about it earlier," she added. Kurt nodded, understanding. There seemed to be no more to say.

For a minute, the three only sat, the silence a contemplative one. Santana's thoughts were careening around in her head with such force that she was afraid her skull might explode; by any standards, the blonde was sick enough already, but Dani wasn't doing well. Granted, she now was partially convinced that Santana wouldn't hurt her at this point in time, but her physical state hadn't noticeably improved since several days ago when Santana had found her. If anything, it was deteriorating.

Santana was pulled from her anxious thoughts by the sound of Kurt's suggestion, low and hesitant.

"Santana . . . have you thought about putting her in rehab?" he asked tentatively. Immediately, Santana's head snapped up, attentive.

"It might help her," Rachel added earnestly, clasping her hands in such a pleading gesture that would have convinced nearly anyone. "They have trained therapists there, and medical care, and — "

"I know!" Santana broke in loudly. When the other two stared at her in amazement, she lowered her voice somewhat, but did not bother disguising the ferocity of her words. "I know that Dani is fragile, Rachel," she threw back fiercely. "She's fragile, but she's beginning to trust me. She's as breakable as that wineglass you took from me, she's been abused and neglected and harmed maybe beyond repair. I know that I know nothing about her life and that I have no right to make that kind of decision for her, but I don't think it would be the best idea.

"Yes, I know, they're actually good places," she added stonily, as Rachel opened her mouth to argue. "But I don't think she's ready for that yet. For Christ's sake, she can hardly even be in the same room as one of us. She needs to know that people who aren't medical professionals can be kind to her; she's too afraid to feed herself or _breathe_ normally, for god's sake. When she's scared or upset, music calms her down. And when she's panicked, she wants to be in someone's arms. She wants to feel the warmth of a human body against her; hear a heartbeat close to her. She won't get that in some rehab. She needs to know that someone _cares,_ and I'll be damned if I let anyone fuck anything else up in her life."

Her voice broke on the last words. Neither Kurt nor Rachel could see her expression; she had dropped her head down, and now a curtain of raven hair hid her face. Nevertheless, they both knew her well enough to know that she was crying. With a glance, they decided not to try to comfort the brunette. It wouldn't work when she was in such a state.

"Santana," Rachel said tentatively after a long minute's silence. "She's been hurt so badly, mentally and physically . . . what if she never gets better?" Santana didn't look up. Her words were slightly muffled when she spoke.

"Then at least someone will have tried." She drew a shuddering breath, and sat back upright, keeping her face turned away. "Besides, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll ask her if she could handle going. I know she probably won't be able to give a clear-headed answer, but I refuse to do anything without her consent and we don't know her well enough to force her into it." Without looking up, she let out a tiny sniffle followed by a throat-clearing cough. "Can you call Blaine to come check on her tomorrow? I need to know how to properly take care of her injuries." Kurt nodded, aware that Santana couldn't see the motion, but knowing that it hadn't been a real question.

Of course he would.

* * *

Dani's ability to conceal her worries was low. Movie nights seemed to be a thing here; like last night, she was curled up in Santana's arms, though admittedly against her will. Kurt's odd choice of an indie flick was only roughly halfway through and Santana had already detected the new tenseness in the blonde's body. She could feel weak muscles pulling in, tightening to the shattering point as if they were water pulling out before unleashing a tsunami. She wasn't stupid; she knew she was probably the reason. She'd tentatively brought up the prospect of rehab to Dani, to which the response had been a nervous but vehement _no._

Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

Santana wasn't reckless enough to believe that she could cure every ill that Dani had ever encountered; even the most minute amount of healing could take any number of years. But how was she supposed to get anywhere when Dani didn't trust her? They had been building up a foundation of at least a vague sense of familiarity for more than five days, but already something had sent it all crashing back to earth with the sense of needing to be destroyed several times over before she could even begin repairing the damage. She wasn't going to pretend she knew anything about what it would take to help Dani, but the realization had hit her early on that she could be either the best or worst thing in Dani's life. It couldn't be anywhere in between — not when Dani was too far gone down the metaphorical rabbit hole to even remember how to breathe without absolute, all-encompassing fear.

Ever since their first movie night several evenings ago, Dani had been tense around Santana. She had avoided her gaze, had even gone so far as to turn away whenever Santana came near. She flinched when touched. She was only allowing Santana to hold her right now because her injuries didn't allow her to walk very well on her own, and the brunette had insisted upon carrying her to the sofa.

They had made it so far, relatively speaking, and now Dani was afraid of her again. Santana didn't need to be told; it was obvious in the way the blonde was holding herself, breathing shallowly in her embrace as though trying as hard as she could to pretend that she didn't exist, as Santana had when she was younger and thought that not breathing could convince the monsters beneath the bed that she wasn't there. How could she have been so stupid? Kurt had warned her that this might happen, not to get her hopes up for Dani; that any sudden word or motion might send her plummeting back to square one. And sure enough, it had happened, and all because Santana had forgotten for the briefest of moments that loud, irritated voices could potentially be a trigger.

She really shouldn't have yelled at Rachel the other night.

"Santana." Her eyes shot open to see Kurt and Rachel standing directly in front of her, both looking extremely concerned. The look Rachel was giving her was pointed, intense, almost critical. Her gaze flickered down to Dani, and she realized that the blonde was trembling uncontrollably.

Immediately, her body snapped into high alert mode, struggling to sit up properly so that she could figure out what was going on. How had she not noticed? Had she been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't registered when Dani began to shake?

"Dani? What . . ." she began, but Kurt cut her off in a tone far lower and more dangerous than she had ever heard. It made her blood run cold, sending a chill all through her body. Something was wrong.

"Santana, don't move. I know you're confused, but if you move, you're going to make things even worse." Santana's gaze darted back and forth between the two of them. She felt herself growing slightly frantic as lack of knowledge of what appeared to be a serious situation kick-started her brain into panic mode. All of a sudden, holding her body still was a whole lot harder than it had been seconds before.

"Kurt, what's happening?" she asked quietly, hardly noticing the panicked quaver in her own voice. "What's happening? Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"

"She's having a seizure, Santana. Now I told you. Don't. Move." Kurt's arms were slightly outstretched, as if they had gotten stuck halfway through reaching for Dani. His gaze was focused intently on the shaking young woman, as though waiting for some sort of invisible sign. Not tearing his eyes away from her, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Rachel, call 911. It will take them too long to get an ambulance here; I'll drive. Just keep them on the phone until we get to the hospital and make sure there's nothing we can do till we get there." Immediately, Rachel dug into her pocket, fumbling with the device in her haste. She stepped back slightly into the shadows; Santana could only see half of her face, but from what was visible, she knew the diva was hiding her fear. Rachel always was good with emergencies.

"Hello? Yes, we've got a woman here, around twenty-two . . ."

"Santana, I need you to listen to me." Santana snapped out of her daze. Kurt kept his eyes on Dani while he spoke. "I'm going to pick her up. You need to go down to the street and start the car; I'll be down in a minute with her." Mutely, Santana nodded, before realizing that Kurt couldn't see the motion.

"O — okay."

"Are you ready? One, two, three . . ." he had Dani in his arms. Instantaneously, Santana shot off the couch, darting into the entrance hall and ramming her boots on her feet. Her body was on autopilot as she yanked the door open and clattered down the outside stairs, sending a reverberation of clanging shockwaves through the silent night air. In more motions than she was aware of using, she had the car door open and the car on, having dropped the key several times as she attempted to stuff it into the ignition. She turned, watching as the outside door shut behind Kurt, who thundered his own way down the metal stairs, Dani in his arms. It flew open again, and Rachel was on his heels, still jabbering harshly into the cell phone as she took the steps three at a time, not even bothering to lock the apartment door. Burglars could kiss her ass; she'd be damned if she let something happen to Dani in the time it took to finagle the sliding double bolt.

"Santana, get in the car." Santana darted under Rachel's arm that held the phone, practically diving through the open car door. She was forced to scramble around in the dark to find the seat belt; after several unsuccessful attempts, she gave up, flattening herself against the chair as Kurt laid Dani down across the back seat. Her head landed in Santana's lap.

"Keep your arm around her and her head turned sideways; whatever you do, don't let her hit it on anything," Kurt instructed, slamming the back door before scurrying around to the front. Rachel was already strapped in and ready to go, calling out directions as they backed out of the parking garage and into the street.

Santana was terrified. She could hardly focus on what Rachel was saying, only knew to hold on as they turned a corner abruptly; only vaguely realized that this was the fastest that Kurt had ever driven, and that his normal self would be screaming at them to slow down. Dani's shaking had not calmed, but her head was oddly still, her eyelids shut and unmoving. Santana bent over her, wiping strands of platinum hair from her face. She had a tiny curl directly above her right ear. Somehow, the littlest details seemed incredibly important.

"Dani . . . Dani . . . it'll be okay . . . you're gonna be okay . . ." she couldn't have told anyone who was speaking. Perhaps it was her; perhaps no one. She only knew that numbing, broken fear that stemmed from the thought of losing her. Losing Dani.

Maybe her trust wasn't so important, after all. Maybe she would be content to be an object in Dani's life until the day one of them died, always there, but never cared for. She would be content to be nothing to her, for Rachel and Kurt and Blaine to claim all the rights to trust and blatant truth and off-hand glimpses of happiness. If only Dani was okay, it wouldn't matter what she got out of this. It wouldn't matter that she needed to be rescued too.

The lack of emotion and yet bombardment of it as men and women in scrubs rushed out to meet them and strapped Dani down was the strangest thing Santana had ever felt.

* * *

Dani's body felt like it was made of wood. Her limbs seemed to be abnormally heavy, as if someone had attached weights to her wrists, elbows, and kneecaps. There was an odd tingling somewhere, too, though its origin was not clear. She coughed. The inside of her mouth felt like she was chewing Styrofoam.

What the hell?

Slowly, with a weight so heavy it was as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold, her eyes blinked open. For a moment, everything was white and blurry, like the surfaces of her eyes were several miles away. It took a moment for her vision to clear and her focus to narrow to provide her with the polaroid-style image of a brilliantly white ceiling. That type of ceiling was too familiar; she knew it well.

_Fuck._ She needed to get out of here.

She seemed to be completely immobile, but Dani could tell that if she focused enough energy into the motion, she could possibly raise her body into a sitting position, and that from there, she could stand. It was going to take a hell of a lot of pain, but it would work. At least her body was semi-functional. Her hands were twitching, at least.

Dani stared straight up at the ceiling, squinting her eyes and forcing every ounce of strength she possessed into moving her torso. With a tremendous amount of effort, she managed to place her hands on the side rails of the bed and push her body upwards against the pillows at her back. Immediately, she was assaulted with an immense surge of pain that nearly caused her to convulse. She bent over at the waist, fingertips digging into her scalp as her entire body locked up with a great wave of agony. It left her panting, hands clenching in her snarled hair long after it had passed.

_Okay,_ she said to herself firmly. _Now you just need to stand . . . without passing out in the process._ Taking as deep of a breath as she could to prepare for the tidal wave of pain that would surely come, Dani steeled herself, and in one swift, blurred motion, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and propelled herself to her feet.

An instantaneous onslaught of pure agony swept through her entire body, causing her to stagger where she stood and grip onto the edge of the bed for support. Her knees buckled beneath her, every limb seeming to take on the single responsibility of making sure that she did not give in to the pain. She struggled for a long moment, determined not to hit the floor but also hardly able to realize any thought but of praying that it would pass soon.

Eventually, it did, and Dani crossed the room slowly, step by painful step, until she reached the door.

It was locked.

A scream of frustration worked its way up her throat, snagged, twisted, and then went plummeting back down into her diaphragm so hard that it seemed to knock her spinal column out of place. She brought her closed fist up to the door in frustration, smashing it against the metal and feeling the shockwaves of fractured bones flit out of her hand, down the delicate construction of her wrist, and into some odd region located somewhere in the corners of her pelvis. _This isn't fair._

There was so much, too much; it felt like her mind had been hijacked and was leading her body on a rampage without her control. It was like someone had turned the stereo up full blast, blocking out all other thought, and she needed something, anything, to turn the volume down. A scalding hot tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek into the collar of the limp, pale hospital gown.

The feeling of the tear hitting the cotton clicked a memory into place.

Straightening up, Dani cast her drained stare around the room in search of her clothing. She found them folded up in a tightly wadded mass on the chair against the wall. As hurriedly as she could, she made her way back across the room and over to them. She dug into the pocket of the wasted jeans with her left hand, purposefully ignoring how the old stains on them looked like knowing, familiar deep brown eyes, and pulled out the item she had stashed their the day before. Her wasted eyes trailed a path along the floor to the middle of the room; her feet followed. With one hand refusing to be braced on the edge of the bed for support, she stood up straight with the last strength that she could catch. She followed the movement of the blade as it curved through the air, catching the light, piercing pale, pristinely bruised, delicate skin. Then red, and she felt her mind bending.

A great hand reached down from out of the flawless white ceiling, pushing down on her shoulders; her spine bowed, snapped back up; seemed to curve into an odd contortion of posture, and then she was only fragments.

* * *

"Danielle?" The waiting room seemed to explode in a fashion as Kurt, Rachel, Santana, and Blaine stood and rushed towards the door. The poor young fellow with the clipboard appeared startled at the enthusiasm greeting him, but almost remained professional nonetheless. He was probably an intern.

Peering over the rims of his spectacles, he studied their frantic expressions.

"Yes . . . well, I've got news for you all. You're family?" he asked. The four exchanged glances. It was Rachel who spoke.

"Yes." When no one moved to contest the response, the lab-coated young man nodded, and brought the clipboard all the way up to the end of his skinny nose.

"All righty then, it says here that Danielle's state of severe malnutrition triggered her seizure," he informed them, as if reciting the words to a poem that he didn't understand. "Seizures themselves aren't fatal, but her anemia and malnutrition are severe enough that she was dangerously close to system failure. She was put in a private room to recover." An eager flurry of expressions met his words, despite their unprofessional tone.

"So?" Blaine asked eagerly. "Can we see her?" The young man looked down the end of his nose at them all, raising himself to a lofty yet distinguished yet.

"You may visit Danielle just as soon as she has awakened, however I would advise you to — " a shrill screech interrupted him, casting a deeply astonished expression to enter his eyes. A triage nurse burst through the door into the waiting room, skidding up to the front desk with the face of someone who had just encountered a horrific scene.

"Can't — breathe — I — found her," she panted out. "Lying — on — the — floor. Blood. Everywhere. Horrific. Like some sort of twisted movie." The receptionist was batting at her with a shirtsleeve, attempting to get the hysterical woman to calm down.

"Breathe, hun. Now who did you find? Tell me what's going on so that I can page surgery." The nurse waved her hands wildly in the air above her head, causing a stack of papers to go flying.

"New patient. Blonde in for nutritional recovery. Slit her wrists. Razor blade. Didn't think _anybody_ could bleed that much."

The group of four had gone pale. The young intern with the clipboard seemed ready to drop to the floor in a faint.

The room was silent.

 


	7. Butterfly Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the pace of this is slow. Yes, I know that you're impatient, but dramatic discussions and a non-slap do not a recovery make. I'm trying to be a little more realistic with it because accurate (or semi-accurate) portrayal of mental health issues is important to me. I could probably write something pretty raw and dramatic about it but I'm willing to let this get a little fluffy and out-of-hand because it's fiction, yes?

But Dani . . . I don't understand why you did it," Rachel pushed gently. Though her words indicated that she wanted to pursue the matter further, she made no move to lean towards the girl, for which Dani was grateful. The last thing she wanted at this point was to be touched. Physical contact right now of any kind would be like being electrocuted. It felt like her entire body was a live wire, like every atom of her being would explode and be scattered if someone moved too close to her.

Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine watched as Dani curled in on herself on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and rocking back and forth, hugging them. Of course, none of them had seen her during a flashback episode, but Dani right now seemed to them to be on the edge of shattering. Her every action indicated that a loss of control was just around the corner, but that she was actually making an effort to hold herself together until they left. It was impossible to tell whether this was a good sign or not.

"I . . . I told you," Dani mumbled. "I didn't . . . I didn't do it at first. I tried to leave. The — the door was locked. Wanted to get away." Rachel's expression was troubled.

"And you thought that killing yourself was the answer?" Dani's face paled. She clutched vaguely at her knees, leaving dragged-out marks of sweaty palms on the thin fabric of her hospital pajamas.

"Rachel!" Kurt hissed, admonishing the diva with a face of light astonishment. "Please, remember the circumstances!" `

"Please do, Rachel," Blaine pleaded. His hands were clasped seriously in his lap. "We know nothing about this situation. We can't judge Dani for anything she has or hasn't done." Rachel nodded slowly; the look she was giving Dani seemed to be slightly contemplative.

"I'm just curious . . . Dani, you know that you could have just buzzed for the nurses to let them know that you were awake," she added lightly. Dani shook her head in a short, quavery movement. It seemed to be taking an abnormal amount of effort to even hold her head up. It wasn't so much that she was tired as it was that she seemed to be in the midst of realizing that she was trapped in a state of perpetually painful existence and that there would be no way for her to escape.

"It's not that simple. Not about that." The words came out as somewhat muffled due to the fact that she was speaking into her kneecaps. Limp strands of platinum hair hung in front of her face, masking her eyes, but her three companions could hear the catch in her voice. Blaine decided to try another tactic: cajoling.

"You know what, Dani, as I was walking — "

"You should have just let me die." All three sat stunned, staring at the little of Dani they could see that wasn't curled into a ball.

_"What?"_ Rachel asked finally. Dani hugged her legs tighter to her chest, paying absolutely zero attention to the pain in her ribs. The bandages on her wrists strained at the movement.

"You . . . you should have let me die. I'm useless. I . . . take up space. I waste food and water and oxygen and now I'm here with someone stuck spending money on me and if I wasn't here it would be more space for the rest of you." Still, they only stared. Dani made no move to uncurl herself. She reminded Rachel of a turtle that had had the shit scared out of it and refused to come out of its shell. The diva was no expert on the subject, but it certainly seemed like Dani felt safer inside the tiny space that her knees afforded her. Things were probably less stressful when you had a shirt between you and life. Cotton was a better barrier than nothing.

At last, Kurt attempted to coax her out.

"Dani . . ."

"Stop. Please," she whispered, her head rising up to look at them. Her eyes were wet and bloodshot, tears streaking her cheeks and coating the pant legs of her pajama bottoms. She looked at Kurt in particular when she spoke, somehow sensing that he, at least, had a higher likelihood of understanding where her thought patterns were coming from. "Please," she whispered pleadingly. Her eyes were exhausted. "Please . . . just leave." For a moment, they all sat there, glancing between her and each other nervously, before Kurt stood, brushing off his jeans.

"Okay." With a quick glance in his direction, the other two hurriedly followed suit, mumbling goodbyes and vague get-well wishes in the direction of the huddled young woman on the bed.

Only Kurt didn't seem anxious to leave; he paused in the doorway with a hand on the handle, sending Dani a softer sort of gaze that she couldn't see.

"Dani . . . would you like to see Santana? She's worried about you," he told her softly. The huddled lump seemed to tense. He almost knew why.

"N — No." Her voice was clearly cracking, but Kurt didn't comment on the obvious breaking sound. Nevertheless, he could hear the clear pain resonating through the room, almost as if it was particles from a radio wave flowing across the room and reforming in his ears.

It was the loudest pain he had ever heard.

There was something the world didn't seem to understand, which was that people, when they were hurting, were never anything more than people. And it was easy to tell what kind of people they were by the way they showed their pain. Kurt could see in Dani just what sort of person she was.

She was locked alone in an empty room in a psychiatric hold ward. Her eyes were bloodshot and weary, her face blotchy and dampened by tears. Her wrists were wrapped far too tightly in sterile white bandages, and her skin was fragile and washed-out. Cowered in a sobbing, shuddering, quaking mass with bare feet and too-short pajamas, her hair damp and plastered to the edges of her scalp, Dani could hardly be called beautiful. But even so, Kurt could tell that she could be strong, and in that possibility of strength, he saw regality.

Dani could amount to so much more than this.

* * *

Santana slumped despondently in one of the waiting room chairs, waiting for Kurt to get back. It had been four days since the night Dani was admitted, and she hadn't seen the blonde at all. She had been forced to be content with daily updates from Kurt, Blaine, and Rachel, and while she was greatly relieved to know that Dani was all right, she was admittedly growing extraordinarily frustrated with the fact that she hadn't been allowed in as a visitor. It had been Kurt who had told her of Dani's unwillingness to see her, and from there Santana's mood had spiraled through a continuous cycle of confusion, irritation, sympathy, jealousy, understanding, anger, fury, and desperation, and had now been reduced to a state of chronic despair which left her with only two results: dirty hair, and a special area in the waiting room where she had been camped out for nearly an entire work week.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous. First Blaine, then Rachel, then Kurt, and then Rachel again had attempted to convince her to go home, to little avail. Blaine and Kurt had gone about the matter with tact and (their version of) hearty persuasion and temptations of homemade chocolate chip pancakes. Rachel had taken a more blunt approach to the issue, and had stated quite firmly halfway through the third day that if Santana didn't go home and at least shower she would be forced to avoid her at all costs. Unsurprisingly, Santana had resisted with threats of shaving her bangs off, and Rachel had fled, leaving Santana to the mercy of the Gay Gilmore Girls.

"Santana, _enough already,"_ Kurt complained, exasperated, as she came flying up to him yet again with greasy, flyaway hair and an expression eager for news. "I said _I'd tell you when there's news."_ But Santana was having none of that. She'd done her time in waiting rooms; she wanted to know now.

"But _Kurt — "_

"But nothing Santana; aren't you getting tired of asking me? I certainly am." Santana caught ahold of his upper arm as he attempted to squeeze by her, latching on with such a firm grip that boy was surprised she didn't leave a bruise.

"Kurt, please," she begged, tugging on his bicep so hard that he nearly tumbled into her arms. "I've been waiting so long out here for an answer when you guys get to go in and see her every day; it's not _fair."_ Kurt yanked away, looking slightly irritated. His hair was distinctly ruffled.

"Life isn't fair, Santana. Certainly you know this, with the prime example of it locked away in a psychiatric ward with her wrists sliced up. Maybe you should join her. Then you two would be even and you could stop berating yourself for not being there for her every second of her life." Santana took a step back, stunned. Though no tears immediately appeared, Kurt instantly noticed the slight scrunching at the corners of her eyes — a sure sign that the Latina was about to cry.

"Fine," she sniffled, turning her head away in an attempt to hide her tears. "I'll just go wait alone. I won't bother you anymore." With that, she turned and began to walk back across the waiting room, shoulders slumped, stumbling over her own feet. Once in her designated corner, she flopped almost lifelessly into the chair, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, in a movement was so pathetic that Kurt was forced to close his eyes momentarily.

With a sigh, he turned back, and followed her across the room.

"Santana, honey . . ." he began, crouching in front of her. He placed one hand comfortingly on her knee. "I'm sorry. I guess we're all just stressed and exhausted. I didn't mean that." Santana snuffled into her sweater sleeve, smearing mascara thickly across the light blue material and beneath her eyes. Kurt thought she looked like a total wreck.

"I just . . . I'm worried," she mumbled, speaking through the cloth as if it could filter the crying sound from her words. "She's so fragile and so scared, and all I want to do is hold her and take her pain away. And now she won't let me, and I don't know why, and it's killing me because I want to fix it but I can't!" she blubbered, casting herself into Kurt's arms in a movement that wasn't far from frenetic. The singer recovered quickly, masking his surprise at the sudden outburst as he brought his arms up to awkwardly encircle the brunette. Santana never hugged; he had almost forgotten that she did this when particularly upset. She must have been bordering on hysteria to even allow him physical contact, much less seek it out.

"Santana . . . you _do_ know why she's doing this, but I can't help you out. It's not your thing to fix; it's hers. Whatever's going on between you two is something that you can only try to mend from your side and then wait to see how she responds. But I can do my best to answer any questions you might have," he added seriously, pulling back to place his hands on her shoulders and look her in the eye when he felt her body shudder feverishly again. The girl let out a pitiful whimper. Her puppy eyes seemed to latch onto the dearest hope she held — that she could fix this. Understand this. That Dani was still somehow okay despite the fact that she was scared to death of her for reasons that were no fault but her own.

"Is . . . is she getting enough to eat? She can't feed herself very well," she murmured, her eyes somewhat out of focus from crying. She looked like she had recently been hypnotized. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, at this point.

Kurt nodded slowly.

"The doctors are making sure that she eats plenty," he confirmed steadily. His gaze didn't waver from her face, though she did not return the eye contact. "She's gained three pounds since she got here — though she lost a few initially, after she was sick," he added. Santana did not look at him when she spoke.

"How is she?" Kurt hesitated.

"She seems . . . lost," he granted finally, seemingly unwilling to find a better word. "She doesn't like to be close to us, and when we go in, she's fine, but she's always crying when we leave. She seems terrified of something, or like she's trapped in her own head. The night staff nurses keep saying that she has constant nightmares, too." When Santana did not speak, only squeezing his hand, he stood up to leave, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he took a step back.

Halfway back across the room, her voice stopped him in his tracks yet again.

"I want to help her." He turned. Santana was looking directly at him this time, and her eyes were filled to the brims once again with tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. His silence seemed to encourage her to keep speaking, and she unleashed a flow of words that left him gasping as if they had been water. "I want to let her know that she can amount to anything, and that no one will ever hurt her again. She thinks she's somehow worth less than the rest of us, and it kills me Kurt. It kills me every time."

He barely made it back to the chair before Santana collapsed in a pile of stringy hair and endless tears.

* * *

She was seriously considering sneaking into the psych wing and going to visit Dani. Surely it couldn't be _that_ difficult — all those movies were about people breaking _out_ of such places; surely breaking _in_ had to be much easier. She had a plan all laid out: she would hide in a bathroom until the last of the visitors had left, and then she would simply sneak in when the receptionist wasn't looking.

Unfortunately, Rachel seemed to employ her special "Santana is misbehaving" sixth sense and made a point to confront her wayward roommate before the actual act could occur. She headed her off on the night in question, ensuring that Santana was occupied with yelling at Kurt for bringing her regular fries instead of curly ones at the hour when the plan would have been put into action. In fact, despite her initial pledge to ignore the woman until she got over her act together and stopped acting like a panicked animal, Rachel did harbor the slightest bit of sympathy for Santana's position. Frankly, she could see why Santana was such a nervous wreck — if she had been in her place, she would have been just as distraught by the events of the past week, if not more. However, the fact remained that she couldn't just stand there and watch Santana dig herself deeper into her own grave. She was worried about Dani too, but this was pushing it too far.

"Santana, if you put one toe through that door tonight, I will kick your ass so hard that you will never sit down again," she threatened sternly, taking Santana forcibly by the shoulders and pushing her back into her chair. Looking on, Kurt realized it was a mark of how serious the situation was that Santana didn't make an obnoxious joke about the diva's choice of words. He had thought that high school Santana was bad, but it turned out that a silent, devastated Santana was even worse than an insulting one.

Santana wasn't even crying anymore; she just sat with her arms hung limply at her sides in a chair unless prodded persistently, at which point she would eventually give the current antagonist a momentary, apathetic stare. She had hardly eaten — at this rate, she was going to end up right beside Dani, Kurt's previous apology notwithstanding. She hadn't even really stood in the past few days. It was now the eighth day, and neither she nor Dani had shown any signs of improvement. Of course, Dani had gained a little more weight, but that was the only plus side of this. If something wasn't done soon, Kurt was convinced that it would mean the end for both women.

"Kurt, she won't eat again. It's your turn." Rachel finally gave up, raising her hands in defeat as she stepped away from a blank-faced Santana. Kurt shook his head.

"No, not happening. It's Blaine's turn. I did duty last night, and besides, it's my night to visit Dani — oh _honestly,_ there she goes again! Seriously, Santana? Are you going to do this every time? That's just plain childish." For, at the mention of Dani's name, Santana had started up hopefully, only to fall back with a muted wail into her inner elbow when she saw the exasperated faces of her friends. Kurt shook his head in slight disgust.

"Okay, you know what, this has gone far enough, Santana," he humphed disgustedly. He turned to his fiancé, who was standing by with weary eyes. "Blaine, call Quinn. Let's see if we can get her up here to talk some sense into her." Santana broke out of her elbow in an almost violent gesture, eyes wild and frantic.

"No, no, no, Kurt! No, don't call Quinn! Not Quinn, Please! I'll fix this! _I'll fix this!"_ Kurt shook his head as Blaine pulled out his phone and began to dial.

"No, Santana. You had your chance." Santana slumped back into her seat with a shocked expression. She seemed to have gone limp.

Two hours later, a very irate-looking blonde in a business suit stalked through the doors of the waiting room, swinging her purse irritably with every step.

"Santana Maria Lopez, I cannot _believe_ I had to leave my night Philosophy of Human Ethics class to drag you out of some stupid mood induced by yet another blonde. Aren't you tired of doing this to yourself?" Santana didn't move her eyes from a fixed spot on the dirty green carpet. The rest, however, were enthusiastic. Rachel barely managed to spare Quinn a hug before departing in a state of great relief. Blaine quickly also followed, retiring to the hospital cafeteria to wait for Kurt to be finished with his visit to Dani. Neither appeared to want to witness the scene that was sure to follow.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered as she left. Blaine pressed a key into her hand.

"For the apartment. Take her home, calm her down. Spend the day with her tomorrow and see if you can get her to talk it out. We'll pay you back." She shook her head.

"Don't worry about it — hey Satan, you ready for a patented Fabray wake-up call?" she called across the room, making her way towards the other girl.

"Leave, Quinn."

"Oh wow, Santana. I would be offended that after five months of not seeing you, all I get is a rude, 'leave, Quinn,' but there seem to be more pressing matters at stake." The ex-cheerleader cocked her hip, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her foot in a way that struck Santana with the memory of an annoying aunt from her childhood.

"You're beginning to sound like Rachel, Fabray. Has Yale really reduced you to that level already?" In one deft movement, Quinn reached out and smacked Santana across the cheek, hard.

"At least I've been doing something with my life, Santana. I didn't come here for you to insult me. Now you have two choices; you can stop acting like a baby and go back to the apartment with me quietly, or I can drag you by the hair. We're going, the easy way or the hard way, so you'd better mentally prepare yourself, if that's what you need to do." Santana glared, covering her the rapidly expanding red slap mark on her cheek with one hand.

"Fuck you, Tubbers." Quinn's mouth set into a thin line.

"The hard way it is, then," she said grimly, before moving. She acted swifter than Santana had expected, catching her off her guard, so that she only ended up getting a scratch across the forearm as her friend reacted. Almost more quickly than Santana could protest, she had her in a headlock with one arm, the other wrapping firmly around her to pin her arms down to her sides. Santana thrashed, letting out a shriek of surprise at the suddenness of the attack.

"Cool it, Santana, that's enough. Stop fighting. You're never going to win. You never could beat me in high school, and you're not about to start now."

"Quinn, put me the fuck down! Let go! _Get the hell off of me! Get! Off! Of! Me!"_ Quinn seemed to pay absolutely no attention as Santana kicked and screamed, pounding on her back with her fists as the blonde swung her over her shoulder. She proceeded to carry her out of the waiting room and straight into the parking lot, ignoring the odd looks they were receiving from the other family members in the room. Still continuing to pay no heed to the blows raining down upon her back, Quinn sat Santana down in the passenger seat of the car, strapping her in and forcibly shoving her back against the seat. She quickly made her way around to the driver's side, catching hold of Santana's arm as she attempted to escape out the passenger door.

"Santana, _stop it!"_ Quinn yanked her wrist so hard that the brunette was jerked back with tremendous force, her head smacking into the dashboard. The movement seemed to stun her momentarily; sitting back up, Santana clawed the hair wildly out of her face, her eyes still wide and slightly crazed with desperation. After debating for a moment, Quinn decided to pretend to not notice, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road that led towards the freeway.

Santana sat clutching her seatbelt with a death grip, staring straight ahead at the dark road and hyperventilating. After a few minutes, her breathing slowed to the point where it was no longer as frantic, and Quinn glanced sideways at her from the driver's seat.

"You okay there?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Santana nod. "Okay." Adjusting her grip on the steering wheel, she didn't chance another look, instead focusing on the road. She was going to need all the patience she could muster to make it through tonight.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Santana stomped through the lobby with not even so much as a glance towards the doorman. Quinn followed, shooting the bewildered man an apologetic look. Santana maintained a stony silence all the way up in the elevator, not speaking even as Quinn dug out the key to the apartment from her purse and let them in.

"So I'd figured we'd order some takeout, maybe watch a stupid TV show tonight. How does Arrested Development sound?" Quinn suggested once in the entry. Santana made no move to respond, shooting Quinn another glare as she kicked off her boots and stalking straight into her bedroom and slamming the door. A half second later, she marched right back out, realizing that that was where she had spent nearly all of her time with Dani. Quinn watched as she stomped down the hall and into Kurt's bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door, and let out a sigh. The law student tossed her purse onto the couch and removed her high heels before following.

"Santana, could you at least talk to me; I . . . Santana are you okay?" she asked, pushing the door open slightly but not wanting to invade the brunette's privacy. A heart-wrenching sob met her ears, and she stepped into the bathroom.

Santana lay in a heap on the floor of the shower, her clothes still on and plastered to her skin by the freezing water that was gushing out of the showerhead. Her entire body quaked with uncontrollable sobs. At the sight, Quinn immediately stripped out of her clothes and crawled right into the shower. She pressed the front of her body against Santana's back, trying not to cringe at the feeling of wet fabric chafing against her bare chest and stomach. Santana shuddered at the contact, but did not pull away. Her fingers scrabbled defeatedly at the wet tiles, pushing along them as if attempting to feel every bit of marble rub against her skin, as if the pads of her fingers could absorb every fragment of coldness and particle of water and suck it up into her body through her veins.

"Oh honey," Quinn murmured, encircling what she assumed to be Santana's waist with her arms. "I've got you. Just let it go." Santana let out a half sob, half scream of frustration and anger and exhaustion, throwing her head back onto Quinn's shoulder. Her hands reached over her head, entangling themselves in soaked blonde hair and threading themselves in so tightly that Quinn's scalp felt like it was being forced to part company with her skull. Her entire body arched up and backwards into Quinn's, straining her spine and causing Quinn to wince, but she didn't let go of the blonde's hair. She almost welcomed the pain in her back; if only it would grow so distracting that she could push all thoughts of Dani aside.

Remarking to herself how much she had to care about Santana to allow her to do this, Quinn merely tightened her hold and struggled to her feet, dragging Santana with her.

"Come on, honey. Let's get you cleaned up." Turning the water to a slightly warmer temperature, Quinn turned Santana around so that she was facing her. Patiently, she helped her to undress, taking over completely when the woman fumbled to pop the button on her jeans and quickly gave up. The blonde tossed the wet clothes out the door of the shower onto the floor of the bathroom, not minding that they would only make a mess for later. Right now, she needed to concentrate on calming Santana down.

Santana leaned limply against the wall of the shower, not moving to aid or protest as Quinn gently washed her entire body, silent, seeming to sense that words right now could only hurt, not help. Pulling Santana back into her body, Quinn shampooed her hair, being careful not to get any in her eyes. She ran her fingernails along her scalp soothingly, attempting to distract her long enough to get the job done. With any other person, perhaps, it would have been awkward, but they had been doing this since high school. Seeing Santana naked wasn't anything to new, and showering together had been a regular thing for years. Any awkwardness that could have been present was engulfed by the needs of the moment and entirely pushed aside.

Shutting the water off, Quinn patted the raven-haired woman down with a towel and helped her into a pair of pajamas, pushing her lifeless limbs into the armholes with no reaction to the blatant apathy other than a quiet sigh. She even went so far as to acquiesce to silent plea that Santana conveyed through her eyes and scooped her up, carrying her bridal style to the living room couch. It looked as though it was going to be a night for girly movies and Chinese takeout — not that Quinn was complaining. She hadn't had a girls' night in what seemed like too many years.

And besides, Santana was needy tonight. When she tucked Santana in later that night and was stopped as she reached the door with a soft request to stay, Quinn didn't even blink, but settled in beneath the covers with the smaller girl wrapped in her protective and familiar embrace. This was what Santana needed, for tonight at least. Quinn would make her talk about this tomorrow; she needed to sort out her issues with what was going on and figure out a better way to cope.

But for now, Santana needed this, and Quinn wasn't going to pretend she didn't need it a little bit, too.

* * *

"Miss Harper? Miss Harper, are you still with me? I need you to try to relax your muscles, please. I can't get a good picture." Dani's eyes snapped open, jumping as her vision wavered with dark smears and a single, overly bright florescent light. All sound in the room was muted save for the rustle of paper and the slow, steady beeping of the monitor. In truth, she was grateful for the silence, though it constantly served to remind her that she was alone. She wished that the entire world would go quiet — maybe she would be able to concentrate better on staying alive if she could hear the sound of her own breathing. Everything felt dulled; color, sound, sense.

She could almost hear her heartbeat.

"Miss Harper, I understand that you are agitated, but please try to remain calm. This is a necessary procedure." The technician's voice was bouncing around loudly in her head. All in all, it wasn't her favorite sound, but she couldn't honestly call it the worst, either. Being touched constantly and hooked up to machines was bad enough; if only she would shut up . . .

Dani let out a nervous squeak, eyes opening wider in shock as she was met with the sensation of cold gel being squeezed onto her abdomen. Her body jolted slightly as though met with an electrical shock. The technician glanced up at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry, miss, really, but this has to happen," she apologized. Dani only nodded, biting her lip to prevent a whimper of fear from escaping. She hated being touched like this, and being naked but for the flimsy hospital gown wasn't doing anything to help. She leaned back on the table, trying to channel her mind into more peaceful thoughts, but sat back up a moment later. The technician appeared slightly irritated.

"Miss Harper . . ."

"What are you trying to find?" Both Dani and the technician appeared to be taken aback by the sudden interruption. Dani looked slightly lost, her eyes nervously darting from side to side as she assessed the possible repercussions of her outburst. The technician merely seemed pleased; this strange young woman had been completely silent for the entirety of their three days together, and while she had garnered responses from the patient's eyes, it was something of a relief to be assured that she was not speaking to a wall.

"The doctor wants to check for any possible internal damage," she explained, glancing at the young woman in warning before applying more gel.

"What kind of damage?" Dani didn't know where her sudden burst of bravery had come from, but she was currently completely ignoring the inner voices that were hissing that this might be a bad idea. Despite being used as an object for the majority of her life, she had retained more of a sense of self than most seemed to assume. It was her body, after all, and she found herself filled with a swell of indignation at not being informed of what procedures were being done.

"Could be anything, but he's mainly concerned about possible tears in the lining of your cervix." The technician sounded slightly nervous at the admission, but made a noticeable attempt to keep her tone professional. She was a recently promoted intern, paid very low wages, and was eager to make her way up through the ranks. That would not be achieved by upsetting nervous patients.

Thankfully, she managed to retain some semblance of professionalism a moment later when it became necessary to hold the trashcan in front of the now dry-heaving young lady on the table. Dani gasped through streaming tears brought on by the strain of having nothing to vomit up. It felt like her stomach was flipping inside out. Once she had finished, she collapsed back onto the table with a huge, shuddering breath, shutting her eyes and surrendering herself to the darkness behind her eyelids and whatever this woman decided she had to do.

She just wanted to get out of here. It didn't matter where she went, as long as she no longer existed. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to die — in fact, she was well aware that death wasn't the answer. However, the realization lurked within her that death would bring about nonexistence. But then again, what had her stepfather always said? Anyone who was a burden went to hell; all victims went to hell; love was foolish — lovers would go to hell — and certainly any woman who longed for the love of someone other than a man towards whom they would be completely submissive was sure to eternally burn. It was what she had been taught.

Maybe dying wasn't such a good idea, after all. The only reason she wished for death was because she hoped for something better than life, but if she were going to hell there was no point. There would be no change; she was already there.

Maybe she was already dead, and God had sent her here — _here,_ to this chaotic, evil world where no one loved and everyone was consumed by hate. But then again . . . well, this couldn't be hell, that was all. Angels weren't in hell, and she had seen them here. Angels didn't come in the form of fiery Latinas either, but as far as she could tell, she hadn't been hallucinating the presence of one such woman. Maybe Santana was the devil in disguise.

Yes, Dani decided. That was surely it, for how else could she explain how quickly her feelings toward Santana had changed? She had been so wonderful to her, so gentle and sweet, and she had not been able to help being drawn in by her. But then she had yelled, had raised her voice at the woman called Rachel, and though the words had not been directed specifically at _her,_ at _Dani,_ well . . . what was to say that they _wouldn't_ be eventually?

She would stay in the hospital a little longer, Dani decided, until the nurses allowed her to go. Then she would leave, would go to another city — maybe Boston, or some remote part of Los Angeles where no one familiar would be able to find her. She couldn't bear to see Santana again; not after her hopes had been raised so high, higher than they had ever been. She simply couldn't bear any more disappointment. Santana would only hurt her; she shouldn't feel any draw towards someone who was potentially so dangerous, and yet . . . and yet . . .

She really needed to stop yearning for things that could never be.

It was so confusing to her; she shouldn't be feeling this way. All Santana had done was raise her voice once, not even at her, and she had panicked. How was it okay to be broken by the smallest things? She'd survived the most horrific childhood, and yet it was a raised voice by someone she had grown to trust that had ripped her apart all over again. It wasn't reasonable; it wasn't logical.

She needed to get a handle on herself. She _needed_ to. She just didn't know how.

* * *

"So she lives. You feeling any better?" Quinn turned from the sink at the sound of footsteps to see Santana come shuffling into the kitchen, dark hair mussed and her eyes puffy and bloodshot. The brunette barely raised her head at the greeting, pulling out a chair and flopping down limply into it. Barely an instant later, Quinn slid a cup of coffee in front of her along with two ibuprofen tablets. Santana reached out and took a long gulp of the hot liquid, not even cringing as it seared her taste buds on its way down.

Quinn sat down beside her, sensing that the woman was not in a mood to be touched, and rested her elbows on the bright tabletop.

"Thank you." Quinn looked over in surprise at the mumbled words, hoping to see Santana's face, and was not disappointed when exhausted dark eyes met her own. In all truth, she had expected Santana to be combative at best, especially after the intense battle of wills they had engaged in the night before. Anything beyond excessive violence was a pleasant surprise at this stage.

"You're welcome, Santana," she tried gently, not making any move other than to send her friend a sympathetic look. Santana nodded, but made no attempt at speech. For a long moment, they sat in comfortable silence, neither feeling the need to break it with potentially wounding words. However, even with the reassuring quiet settling over them, Quinn continued to send the other woman concerned glances. Santana tried to ignore the looks, but after a moment, she sat up straighter, sighing.

"Quinn, you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I'm not going to explode or anything." The law student didn't bother to rearrange her features into a more casual expression; rather, she leaned forward slightly just as Santana leaned back, causing them to shift in unison as if the movement had been choreographed.

"I don't know that, Santana." Neither bothered to acknowledge the fact that they were referring to each other by name in an odd show of politeness. Clearly, some tension still remained.

"Quinn, I'm not dynamite," Santana snorted.

"I'd argue that."

"Go right ahead." Quinn let out a puff of air in slight irritation.

"Santana, I literally had to drag you out of that hospital last night. I think it's safe to say I should be a little on edge. You were practically psychotic."

"You would be too."

"So what, I should have just left you there?" Quinn could hear her voice growing in volume, but she ignored it. Santana was being ridiculous.

"No; I'm just saying that you shouldn't tell me how to cope with this, because you don't have any idea what's going on in my head." Santana was yelling, but she honestly didn't care; she could only feel her anger building. Who was Quinn to come sailing back into her life and tell her how to deal with a situation she had no knowledge of?

"Then by all means, enlighten me! I can't help you if I don't know what's going on!"

"I don't need a damn rescue squad, Q! I didn't ask for your help! So why don't you go running back to Yale and your elderly boyfriend, or offer your precious advice to Berry. She'd buy it like discount Broadway tickets. If I had wanted you here, I would have called you myself." Both women were glaring at each other; Santana had stood up at some point in the middle of her rant, and was now standing with her hands braced on the edges of the tabletop. Her chest was heaving, though whether from the force of her words or restrained emotion, it was impossible to tell. Had they not been so worked up, they would, perhaps, have remarked upon how far from their usual glamor they both looked — Quinn's skin was sagging beneath the eyes, and her clothes were practically sticking to her skin. Santana was worse off by far; nearly a week of practically no sleep had taken its toll.

For a tense minute, they glared harshly at each other, eyes crackling with fury. Then at last, Santana's shoulders slumped, and she fell limply back into her chair, her eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry, Q," she whispered. Quinn nodded, the fire fading from her gaze as her posture relaxed.

"That's all right . . . but Santana, we really need to talk about this," she added carefully. Santana only granted her a noncommittal shrug.

"Whatever."

"San . . ."

"I know, Q. I know. Just — just spit it out, okay?" Santana was pleading with her, even going so far as to clasp her hands in front of her as if in prayer. Perhaps her emotions had been riled before, but not seeing Dani had sent her into such a downward spiral of desperation that she was almost willing to resort to any measures to repair the damage done. She wasn't so obtuse as to think that it wasn't her fault that Dani was avoiding her — she should have been more careful — but she wasn't about to give up on earning back the small amount of the blonde's trust that she had managed to obtain.

"Santana, I know that you're upset."

"That's an understatement."

"Are you going to let me talk?" Quinn's hands were on her hips, and her glare was so like her old HBIC attitude that Santana couldn't help but quaver a little in her seat. At her silence, the blonde continued. "I know you're upset, but frankly, I'm ashamed of you for acting this way when Dani has so many actual things to worry about."

"Are you going to stop being a bitch?"

"Are you going to listen?" Santana glared for a moment, and then sighed. Not making eye contact, she nodded. Watching her expression carefully, Quinn continued. "I understand that this has been hard for you, not seeing her, especially after all that you've done to help her out, but Santana, you need to realize that you know nothing of her situation."

"I know that, Q," Santana huffed, rearranging her legs. She refused to meet the law student's eyes.

"Santana, I'm being serious here. You've been nothing but wonderful to Dani, but you've got to understand that you can't possibly know what's going on in her head. Yes, you were helping her, but yes, you also fucked it up. I know that it was an accident and that you know better now, but you're trying to fix it in an instant and that's just not going to work," Quinn implored. She needed Santana to see reason — of course she knew better than to yell at anyone now in Dani's presence, but she was going about fixing it the wrong way. A few magic words and some gentle touches weren't going to save her.

"Q, I've tried. I've waited for over a week and she wants nothing to do with me. It's not only that that's bothering me; I know that if I give it time she'll be more comfortable around me, but I just want to help her. You don't understand; Q, it's eating me up inside." Santana's voice was weary, strained – her face was drawn and pale and her eyes showed that she hadn't slept in days. She looked half insane.

"Santana it's not like granting three wishes; you can't just magically make her feel safe, it doesn't work that way," Quinn scoffed. She honestly couldn't believe how thickheaded Santana was being; Dani had been severely abused. It could be years before she fully recovered, if she ever even made it that far.

"Then what do you suggest, Q?" Santana hissed, recoiling into her chair and taking an angry gulp of her coffee. She ignored the unsettled feeling in her stomach and focused on the harsh taste. Quinn had forgotten to add milk.

"I suggest that you try to earn her trust back before you try to make her let you in. She's not going to for a while, Santana, or maybe ever. This is going to take time. You can't change what's going on in her mind, so you need to focus on showing her you. Don't try to push her to trust you or to understand; just let her see who you are. For fuck's sake, Santana, the girl doesn't even know your last name. You don't even know _her_ last name." Quinn threw up her hands, the motion looking somewhat ludicrous with her pale arms waving about. Catching the bemused look on her friend's face, she lowered them, and leaned forward earnestly.

"Santana, you need to accept that it's going to take a while for this to happen. Don't try to make her trust you; just be yourself around her and let her see that she has nothing to fear. Tell her little things about yourself. She might be less afraid eventually, but you need to give her time," she said seriously. She caught up the brunette's hand, stroking her thumb over the back of it soothingly. "Let her deal with her own demons first. She doesn't need to fight yours, too." Santana's eyes were closed, her bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth. She seemed to be battling with herself. But at last, she nodded slowly, and opened her eyes. Quinn met her gaze steadily, reassuring her with a gentle hand squeeze.

"Should I go see her?" she asked softly. Quinn hesitated, and then released her hand.

"Only if she asks you to."

* * *

It was late at night on Thursday when Rachel finally sent word to Santana that Dani had reluctantly agreed to see her. Upon hearing the news, Santana stood so rapidly that she nearly knocked her chair flat on the floor, almost sending a nearby old woman and her pet parakeet into convulsions of fright. Rachel glared at her sternly.

"Santana, that's exactly the kind of behavior that will scare her," she admonished seriously, giving the brunette a scolding whack on the arm. "Now remember, she's still sick, and she's afraid of you. It took me all afternoon to convince her that you weren't going to attack her or something, so don't undo that by scaring her away with some accidental cuss words or something equally careless." Santana nodded despite clearly not having listened to a word the diva had spoken.

"Is she okay?" was all she asked, and her dark eyes were so concerned that Rachel sighed. At least the woman was slightly more composed than she had previously been — she had showered, thanks to Quinn, and her demeanor was much more conserved. She hadn't shouted, at least.

"She's . . . weak," the shorter woman granted after a moment's careful pause. "She's hooked up to an IV because of her nutrition issues, but she's in the psychiatric ward, so it doesn't look as much like a hospital room as the others. But please, Santana, don't worry her," Rachel practically begged, gripping the Latina's elbow tightly. "She's in so much pain already." Santana's eyes softened slightly, though she tugged her arm irritably out of the smaller woman's grip.

"I won't, Berry."

Despite her promise, Santana couldn't help the shiver that ran through her as the nurse led her into the room where Dani was staying. It was larger than most hospital rooms, but almost empty save a bed, a chair, and a small desk on which there was a small pile of folded, hospital-issued pajamas. There was a window on the far wall, but it was small, and the shades had been drawn, causing a flat, white light to fill the space.

Dani sat curled into a tiny ball on the bed, holding her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth slightly. From where she stood, Santana could not see her face. Tentatively, she took a step forward into the room, wincing at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her.

"Dani?" The blonde jumped in fright, though whether it was at the sound of her name or because of the door, Santana could not tell. When she moved, her head turned to see the Latina standing immobile by the door, and Santana's heart nearly broke again at the sight of her terrified eyes. She appeared slightly better nourished than when she had been brought in, but her face was tight and pale, and her beautiful, honey-colored eyes were filled with fear and some other, flatter emotion that Santana could not name. Her entire body trembled where she sat, and the hand that was threaded with tubes clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

"Dani?"

"Leave me alone. Please," Dani begged, when Santana only stared. Her voice was rough from tears, and strained as if the back of her throat had suddenly contracted. Santana did not move; she merely stared, her eyes wide and fastened on this broken, shuddering form of a broken young woman. She could not fathom the pain that wracked Dani's fragile body day by day, nor what torturous thoughts still tormented her mind. All she knew was that she was overcome with an intense, sweeping wave of compassion for this shattered, beautiful wreck of a human being.

"Dani." She was finding that she could only whisper, her voice catching as if on loose threads as it broke somewhere near the roof of her mouth. It seemed to get stuck behind her teeth before she could formulate proper words.

"I know you're going to hurt me; please just do it quickly," Dani murmured, dropping her head back to her knees. Santana saw the way that she angled her body away from the door, her legs shivering with what could only presumably be fear. Watching the younger woman tremble uncontrollably, she tried to imagine just how horrible of a life Dani must have had to endure to fear every human being that stepped into a room. She tried to imagine the agony that she must have been subjected to; the abuse both physical and emotional that could have brought such anguish. She had never seen a human suffer to this degree.

Her next words surprised them both.

"Did I ever hurt you?" Dani looked back at her, somewhat startled, though the fear did not leave her eyes.

"N — no."

"Then why would you think that I would?" Santana was hardly aware that she was almost pleading with her. She found herself suddenly needing to hear from Dani's lips exactly why she was so frightened of her.

"You were too good to me," Dani whispered. Their eyes were locked together, fearful hazel boring into worried coffee. Neither sought to break the contact; it was like a magnet, and each secretly feared that if it were broken, all understanding would slip away.

"What — "

"Y — you were so good to me, and then you yelled at Rachel. I don't even know you. We're strangers. You have no reason to help me," Dani whispered hoarsely. She started to turn away.

"But I didn't hurt you."

"But you might." Santana opened her mouth to argue, but at the last moment, Quinn's words to her came flooding back. Her friend was right — she couldn't push Dani any further, especially not when she was in such a fragile state. She would need to learn to trust her on her own time.

"All right then," she said suddenly, pulling up the chair. It squeaked on the linoleum floor, causing Dani to flinch. "You say we're strangers — how about I tell you a little bit about myself?" She waited a moment for a response, but when it was clear that there would be none, she cleared her throat. One leg jiggled nervously. Thinking hard, she sought for information — any random fact that could possibly give Dani a clue as to who she was. It was harder coming up with facts about herself when the situation presented itself. What could she possibly say?

"My last name's Lopez," she said finally, settling for the easiest thing she knew to say. "I'm from Lima, Ohio, and I'm twenty-one. I guess that means I'm younger than you. I went to Louisville after I graduated, and then moved to New York after a semester there. I used to be a cheerleader. Can you believe that?" She chuckled nervously, wiping her sweaty palms on the sides of her pant legs. Dani's breathing changed slightly; she couldn't tell exactly why.

"Ummm, I love cats," Santana continued lamely, growing slightly desperate to come up with more. It seemed as though she had suddenly forgotten everything she thought she knew about herself. What was going on with her today? "I don't like dogs so much; they scare me. My aunt had a dog that would bark at me when I was little, and one day, when my aunt wasn't paying any attention, it ran at me. I was so scared because I thought it was going to bite me, but it turns out it just wanted to play, I guess. I played fetch with it for a while, but to this day, I'm still a little scared of strange dogs." She didn't know why she was rambling on so nonsensically; why would Dani be the least bit interested in something that had happened to her when she was a child?

Maybe if she had raised her eyes from her hands clasped nervously in her lap, she would have seen the vague hint of a smile that twitched at the corner of Dani's lips, and then quickly faded away.

 


	8. Abridged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's decidedly less angsty than the previous ones. And yes, Dani does warm up to Santana much faster than it seems like she should, and no, that level of total comfort definitely isn't real, but feelings like these are extremely volatile, and you'll see a reason for it all later on (hint hint). Also the song isn't mine, it's Demi Lovato's, I would never steal from such an angel, yada yada yada.
> 
> Happy reading.

Night had fallen, and the silence that was left behind in the absence of Dani's visitors left a heavy weight resting strangely upon her. The psychiatric wing of the hospital was furthest from the others, set apart purposefully, with an ophthalmology unit below and a testing laboratory above, to allow for a slight possibility of a quieter atmosphere. With her door shut, Dani could only faintly hear the sounds of the main hospital, and even then, their normal hustle and bustle had calmed into a muted nightly routine. Somehow, in the night, she got the feeling that things were slightly less critical; that patients hovering on the edge of death were in less danger, and that she herself was slightly less prone to shattering.

Her room was dusky but for where the shadows of the moonlight outside danced on the edges of the bedframe. From where she sat at the corner of the mattress, a small angle of her body was illuminated. The only mirror was in the bathroom; she could not see her face, but she knew that her appearance at this point was shocking. Her eyes were dull and sunken, their dark honey shade flattened and stretched by tears and seemingly endless suffering. Her entire body was weak from illness and injury; her face was deathly pale, and her limbs trembled and quaked with every slight movement.

Nevertheless, she had never felt so completely alive.

Her first few days here in the hospital had been traumatic, to say the least, and Santana's visit a little over a week ago had been unsettling, but Dani was now beginning to get back to her feet. Long hours to herself had allowed her time to think over things, to decide how to approach her life from a different angle. She knew that if she were to ever be relieved from the pain of the past sixteen years, she would have to learn to see things in a different light, and to go about life with an entirely new mindset. Yes, what had happened to her over the years was horrific — she wasn't about to pretend that it was not — and she would likely carry the scars of those experiences with her for the rest of her life. But it was over now — she had spent the past few weeks convincing and reminding herself of that. Even now, she could scarcely believe it; that after nearly two decades of horrible treatment, abuse, neglect, and hateful words, she would be allowed to live her life as a normal human being.

She _wasn't_ normal; Dani knew that, but she was beginning to understand that normalcy was but a faint vision that people who were not assured of the significance of their own existences played about with to ease their minds. The notion was growing easier in her mind that she was an individual, a singular person with a mind of her own and a story to tell. Moments alone had allowed her to reminisce and acquire her own set of values based on the memories of what she had experienced. Truth, humility, and strength were virtues that she valued, and she intended to follow them as best she could. She understood that life would throw things her way that she was not expecting; that she could not, in fact, anticipate any of it. But nevertheless, she was willing to embrace its unpredictability. She was ready.

She no longer feared that Santana would hurt her, based on a number of conversations with Kurt, Blaine, and Rachel, and also by reasoning with herself. However, even if she had in fact been in danger of Santana hurting her, Dani would not have been afraid. She understood, theoretically, that people hurting her was not her fault. People were cruel, yes, but that was their issue; it was problematic, and she was still uneasy, but she would no longer allow anyone else's actions to influence the way she thought or acted. It was about time that she took charge of her own life.

Vaguely, as she sat there alone and consumed by her own thoughts, she remembered the tenderness in Santana's touch as she helped her to breathe more deeply. She recalled Rachel's comforting smiles, and Kurt's easy tone when he spoke to her. When surrounded by the three singers, Dani had been frantic and terrified, unwilling to accept their attempts to help her, but now, deprived of their aid and their support, she felt surprisingly lonesome.

For the first time, she realized how foolish she had been to attempt to live on her own. It had been pure luck and chance that Santana had discovered her that day in the alley; had she not, it was almost certain that Dani would not currently be alive. She knew nothing of survival beyond avoidance of conflict; for all of her life she had merely defended and not resisted, rolling over whenever she was struck instead of fighting back. She knew nothing of making money, buying food, finding shelter, or keeping herself healthy and safe. If she were to ever wish to live on her own, completely free of aid and advice, she had a lot to learn.

The one thing Dani did know was that Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, and Santana seemed to be willing to teach her.

She wondered if, should they be willing to help her, she would eventually be able to not shy away from the touch of another human being.

She wondered if she would ever be as unafraid as they. She was working towards it, growing steadily more confident all the time, but she still had a long way to go.

Yet, if she was going to heal, she needed to do it _h_ _er way._ She was the only one who could take full control of fixing what was going on inside her head. She might as well start working at it; maybe she didn't have to trust them, but she could deal with herself. She may have been broken, beaten, and stretched to the point of nearly breaking, but she wasn't broken. She might have been ignorant of how to care for herself, but she wasn't _helpless._

Standing on unsteady legs, Dani crossed the short distance from the end of her bed to the window. She gripped the sill tightly with shaking hands, needing the support, and also the reassurance that if she held on tightly enough, the world would not be ripped away. As she stood, her wandering eyes searched the spread of the streets below her, several floors down. The lights of streetlamps and buildings, lighted windows, intersections, and holiday lights strung on wires shone in a variety all across the streets. Looking down, Dani could see the slight dusting of snow, the bundled up figures of people going about their business late at night, and she realized with a start that it was late November. She had been in the city longer than she had thought; the past six weeks had been a blur for her. Still, she found it difficult to believe that she had known these people for that long.

She had been in the hospital for almost three weeks, and in that time, she had hardly seen the real world at all. In fact, this was the first time she had gone so close to the window. The only people she had encountered were Kurt, Rachel, Blaine, Santana, and the small group of doctors and counselors that attempted to work with her on a daily basis. Now that she thought about it, she realized that it was a miracle they had not discharged her yet. Perhaps it was because of her weakened physical state — it must have been, for no one would have been allowed to stay so long if they remained as noncompliant as she.

They were going about attempting to heal her the wrong way; she could have told them that, but the words were lodged somewhere deep in her diaphragm every time the subject came up. She had not spoken to any of them for longer than several terse moments at a time. If they wanted so desperately to ease her pain, stitch her wounds, then they should have been inquiring as to what could help her the most. Of course, in the beginning, she had been so muddled that she had not known, herself, what would be most beneficial, but long moments of silence had brought the memories back to her of her first months here in the city.

She wanted to play music; she needed it like Kurt needed fashion, like Rachel needed the spotlight; like Santana needed attention and physical comfort. If only someone could find her guitar and bring it to her, perhaps she could begin to sing again. It would sound far from pretty at first; she wasn't fool enough to believe that the past few weeks had not robbed her of her voice as well as her newfound confidence. Yet, despite the incorrect cords and cracking notes, she was sure to gain a little from it. Her talent would return with time . . .

No, damn it all. She was going to sing.

In fact, she wanted to sing right now.

Eyes still lingering on the bobbing coats and beanies several stories below, Dani opened her mouth, breath puffing against the cold glass and spreading out before fading into the air. The first few notes that escaped her throat were wrong; on key but dampened and strained. But, after a few moments, they warmed up and began to flow.

_I can't sleep tonight_   
_Wide awake and so confused_   
_Everything's in line, but I'm bruised_

Her voice was hoarse, the words catching in her throat. It was almost painful, scratchy, and a more conscious version of herself would have cringed at the sound, but she could hardly hear her own voice, though it was growing in volume.

_I need a voice to echo_   
_I need a light to take me home_   
_I kind of need a hero; is it you?_

Dani was so absorbed in her thoughts, in allowing the words and sounds to escape from between her lips, that she didn't notice the door to the room opening quietly and shutting with a muted sound. She didn't see the head of dark hair or the piercing eyes that watched her from the doorway in the dark, silent and humbled.

_I never see the forest for the trees_   
_I could really use your melody_   
_Baby I'm a little blind, and I think it's time_   
_For you to find me_

Santana listened in awe to the rough quality of the voice that did not disguise the natural talent behind it, watching the stiff figure of Dani gripping the windowsill, leaning forward slightly with her forehead pressed against the glass. In the faint glow cast from the streetlights, she could see where dark brown was beginning to seep in at the roots of blonde hair. She hadn't know Dani wasn't a natural blonde; neither had she known that the woman could sing. Come to think of it, there was a lot she didn't know about Dani.

Seeing the broken girl clutch firmly at the window and sing with edging volume into what she presumed to be an empty, darkened room, Santana realized that the only thing she knew about Dani was the first part of her first name.

_Can you be my nightingale_   
_Sing to me; I know you're there_   
_You could be my sanity_   
_Bring me peace; sing me to sleep_   
_Say you'll be my nightingale_

Dani's voice grew louder, stronger, on the chorus; it tipped till it almost seemed like a breaking point, and then settled back into the verse again.

_Somebody speak to me_   
_Cause I'm feeling like hell_   
_Need you to answer me_   
_I'm overwhelmed_

_I need a voice to echo_   
_I need a light to take me home_   
_I need a start to follow_   
_I don't know_

_I never see the forest for the trees_   
_I could really use your melody_   
_Baby I'm a little blind;_   
_I think it's time for you to find me_

With every word, Dani's voice was gaining strength, though it still retained its broken quality. Hearing it strain with every rising note, Santana could see just how much Dani was singing from her heart.

_Can you be my nightingale_   
_Sing to me; I know you're there_   
_You could be my sanity_   
_Bring me peace; sing me to sleep_   
_Say you'll be my nightingale_

On the last line, Dani's voice broke, though the final note stayed firm. It didn't linger lastingly in the air, but boomed out like a shock, filling the room with its force. The moment the last sound faded from her throat, all the emotion came rushing back, crushing in on Dani, folding in on her chest and collapsing her ribs into her heart and bending it all like origami so that every part was interrelated. But, weighted with power though the feeling was, no tears came to her eyes.

Without turning around, she spoke.

"I know you're there, Santana." The darker-haired woman jumped, startled at her words. She had thought that Dani was so absorbed in her singing that she hadn't noticed she was present.

She was clearly underestimating this girl.

Searching for something appropriate to say, Santana settled with the simple thing she knew.

"I'm sorry." Dani did not turn, but the brunette saw where her fingers gripped the windowsill still tighter. She clenched her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of the streetlights and lightly drifting snow. The sky was dark, and for the first time that year, a few bright stars were visible, even deep within the recesses of the city.

"Sorry doesn't help me, Santana." For a moment, Santana remained silent, not knowing what to say. Dani was right, she knew; apologies didn't solve anything. They only excused previous actions. Maybe that was what Quinn had been trying to tell her: she needed to act, not speak.

"I meant that I'm sorry to intrude," she amended after a minute. "I shouldn't have bothered you. You clearly want to be alone; I'll just . . . go." She fumbled over her words, and then turned to leave. She had just placed her hand on the door handle when she heard Dani speak.

"I would have stopped singing if I hadn't wanted you to hear." Her voice wasn't warm or particularly emotional; in fact, if anything, it was casual and meaningless. But Santana sensed instinctively that this was as close as Dani was going to come to asking her to stay. She set down her purse on the floor by the door, and crossed her arms.

"Why didn't you stop?"

"I was speaking to you." Dani still did not turn, but Santana could feel her attention growing firmer, and knew that they were hovering in a balance. This was as close as Dani had ever come to having both feet on the ground.

"To me?"

"I was speaking to you, Santana. I will allow you to help me. But I need to deal with myself first. I need to know you first before I can trust you. I can't promise you anything, so please don't expect me to. But I'm going to work on getting myself to a better point in my life, and I can't do it alone." Santana had nearly stopped breathing. She knew how much it had potentially cost Dani to speak so, to admit that she needed help, and also to speak so firmly about what she did and did not want. It could not have been without a little fear of what the consequences may have been, but she had spoken, and that meant that something inside of Dani had overridden that fear.

"I'd be honored to help you, Dani," Santana said honestly, after a long moment's pause.

"Thank you." Santana stared at the blonde woman's back, watching tiny tendrils of hair trail down her back like fragments of a waterfall. She cleared her throat.

"What should I do?" she asked. Dani shifted her weight slightly. She seemed to be contemplating.

After a moment, she turned, and her honey-colored eyes, reflecting the Christmas lights outside, held sincerity. She drew a breath.

"You can start by getting me out of here."

* * *

Santana waited outside the bathroom for Dani, holding her small bag of clothing and fighting with the growing urge to knock on the bathroom door. Dani had insisted that she was able to shower for herself, and after a little debate, she had done so, but she had been in the bathroom for a long time. Santana would have being lying if she had said she wasn't a little worried.

She had phoned Rachel and Quinn, ignoring their complaints for being woken up at half-past midnight, and had requested that one of them purchase some clothing and essentials for Dani and bring them to the hospital while the other readied the house for her homecoming. Quinn had agreed to the former, forcing Rachel to clean out the apartment, send Kurt out to go shopping, and prepare Santana's bedroom. Both had grumbled at the fact of being roused from their beds and made to exert energy in the middle of the winter night, but both had acquiesced, and neither had complained for long. As irritated as they were with the brunette for everything she had put them through in the past couple of weeks, they understood her need to help Dani. And besides, Dani herself was of more than slight interest to both of them.

Giving in to her worry, Santana knocked lightly on the bathroom door.

"Dani? Are you all right in there?" she called. For a moment, there was no response. She fidgeted, uncertain of whether knocking again would be necessary. Just as she was raising her hand again, the door was opened, and Dani stood before her. She flinched slightly at the sight of the raised fist, but otherwise showed no sign of shock at Santana standing directly outside the door. She raised an eyebrow as Santana gaped.

Dressed in new clothes, fresh out of the shower, Dani looked like a different person. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a tee shirt with a college hoodie thrown over it, and sneakers. She wore the makeup that she had requested Quinn purchase, and the mascara and eyeliner presented quite a different feel from what Santana was used to. It hid, too, the pallor of her skin, though the shower had flushed some healthy color back into her cheeks; a light blush brought back the image of healthiness, and her dark eyes sparkled with life and excitement. She'd dried her hair enough that it was merely damp and beginning to curl a little.

She looked utterly normal, and Santana was shocked by the realization that if she had had no prior knowledge of the situation, she would never in her life have guessed how much she had endured. She hadn't been in the bathroom to see the way that Dani avoided the sight of the faded bruises and scars littering her body, but had she done so, she would have noticed that they were much lesser than the blonde perceived them as being. And she would have seen, too, the way that Dani brushed all thoughts of them aside, and proceeded to ready herself with quiet and almost gleeful anticipation of what was to come.

"I'm ready," Dani said quietly, watching Santana's face. The brunette startled, shaking her head, but her eyes remained wide.

"You — you look diff — "

"Different; I know," Dani acknowledged, bending slightly to pick up one of her bags. "I thought the same thing. Now you know what I look like when I'm normal." Santana nodded at her words, still stunned. She was distracted by the sight of Dani wincing and putting a hand to her ribs as she bent to retrieve her luggage.

"Wait — let me carry that — you shouldn't — I mean, I should — "

"Santana, it's all right," Dani cut off her rambling. "I just hurt a little bit. I'm not an invalid, you know." Santana didn't know where on earth all of this newfound confidence was coming from, but she knew that she wasn't going to complain one bit. Confidence looked good on the usually broken Dani.

"I would like to carry it for you. You're still injured," she reminded her gently, putting a hand out to take the bag. "I'd rather I carry it than you be in pain." Dani smiled at the offer, but she shook her head.

"No, thank you. I'd rather carry it myself. You may hold the door for me, however," she said lightly. "My wrists still hurt, and I don't think I should strain them." Santana hesitated. Dani sent her a pointed look. She sighed.

"All right," she allowed, crossing the room to pull open the door. "But you aren't carrying anything else — if I can help it, at least." Dani only smiled gratefully, and walked through the open door, being careful not to place too much pressure on her healing ankle.

They met Quinn in the lobby, and after signing Dani out, the three women made their way out the doors through the frigid air to the parking garage where Quinn had left her Honda. Santana introduced the blondes, rather nervous that Dani would not take to meeting another person so soon, but she soon found that the two put her fears to rest. Dani took immediately to Quinn, and Quinn was all smiles and genuine words as they piled into the car.

As they drove back to the apartment, Dani could not disguise her excitement at being back in the real world again; her eyes lit up at nearly everything she saw, from an old man walking the streets to a Starbucks on the corner. She even let out several tiny squeals at the sight of a working payphone. The sign for a parade, too, allowed for a little squeak of excitement that Santana was not even quite sure Dani knew she had made. The brunette shared a glance with Quinn through the rearview mirror, laughing through their connected eyes. She had never seen Dani so happy — in fact, come to think of it, she had never seen Dani feeling anything but pain.

The delight and anticipation in Dani's eager expression was perhaps the most beautiful thing that Santana had ever seen.

Upon reaching their apartment, Quinn parked and offered to carry up the groceries while Santana got Dani settled. The brunette agreed, despite Dani's protests of wanting to help, and led the blonde up the front stairs, not wanting to go up the back as it would strain her already tired body. Plus, the memory of running frantically down those stairs while filled with so much fear about a month before still stuck in Santana's mind.

Kurt and Rachel were currently out, having decided at around one AM that it would be less overwhelming for Dani to return to the apartment alone with Santana and Quinn than to be surrounded by four people before she was even able to get settled in. As the two women entered the apartment, Santana's eyes immediately fell to the blonde to see how she would react. To her surprise and great relief, Dani's shoulders relaxed the moment they entered the room, as if relieving a tension she didn't even know she had held. She stood still for a moment just inside the door, breathing deeper than usual, and glanced around with easy, calm eyes. In the weeks she had been away from it, she hadn't given much thought to whether she would feel comfortable in a place she had hardly even been in. But as she stood inside the door, any of her fears melted away; returning to the apartment felt familiar, like coming home.

It took her a moment to realize that she had never felt that way before in her life.

Still keeping her eyes on Dani watchfully, somewhat anxious, Santana led her to what was now their bedroom, careful to guide her around any objects lying on the floor that might trip her and cause her to injure herself again. She paused at the doorway and turned back, making sure that Dani was ready, before pushing the door open and gesturing her to enter.

Dani's mouth fell open.

Santana's room looked only slightly different from when they had left, but the subtle changes were immediately obvious to the blonde's eyes. A second dresser had been added next to Santana's, topped with a stack of writing pads for songs. Her guitar, which had been brought into the alleyway by the men who had assaulted her, stood up on a stand next to what was presumably her side of the bed. It had been cleaned and polished, the strings redone, and carefully tuned by Rachel, who had gone down to the alley that night at Santana's request and retrieved it for her.

Dani's eyes were wide and shocked at the realization of what the four of them had done for her. She moved slowly from the doorway, dropping her bag by her side, and crossed the room to the dresser after a longing glance at her guitar. Carefully, she pulled open each drawer, her movements almost reverent, and stared in amazement at the sight of each one filled with new clothes of exactly her style. Her eyes flicking sideways, she saw that the closet, too, had been half-filled with clothing that was certainly her own. Some of them looked a little big, but they were all precisely items that she would have picked for herself.

The knowledge that they had paid such close attention to her was what finally brought tears to Dani's eyes.

"It uh, it isn't much," Santana said nervously from her position in the doorway. She hoped that Dani liked what they had done for her and would accept their gift, but it was impossible to tell by the way that the woman's hair half hid her eyes. "Some of them are a little bit big for you, but Rachel got them that way on purpose so that they'll still fit once you've gained your weight back. Plus, I thought you would be a bit more comfortable in things that weren't quite so tight," she rambled nervously, running a hand through her hair.

Dani stood up, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes, and turned to face Santana's way. As Santana watched, one tear slipped from her eye and slid down her cheek, dropping onto the edge of her shirt.

"You all — did this — for me?" Dani asked haltingly. It was as if she were unable to comprehend the kindness she had been shown, after all the hell she gone through; after all the mistrust and uncertainty. She almost couldn't believe it.

"We wanted you to know that you mean a lot to us, Dani," Santana answered honestly. She was still somewhat nervous, but she wasn't going to let that get in the way of telling Dani how they all felt about this. "We care about you, and we want to help you in any way we can, not because you're some charity case, but because we honestly enjoy having you in our lives. We want you to be comfortable and happy with us, and, if you'll — think about it, we would really like it if . . . if you could eventually consider us your friends." Dani stepped slowly in the direction of the slightly taller woman, gazing up at her from beneath her wet, dark eyelashes. When she reached her, she stood in front of her for a moment, biting her lip shyly, before reaching for Santana's hand.

"You found my guitar, you bought me clothes, you took me into your home and took care of me . . . Santana," she said softly, staring up earnestly into her eyes, "the three of you saved my life, and Quinn too, if I think about it, because she brought you to me again. I've never felt more comfortable or happy or at home before in my life. So I think it's safe to say, Santana, that I already consider you as my friends." Her words referred to Rachel, Kurt, and the others, but her tone said differently, and Santana knew that the smaller girl was speaking specifically to her.

The knowledge that this girl trusted her enough to stand so close to her alone, to touch her, and to speak to her so boldly made Santana prouder than Dani would ever know. A year ago, she would have laughed at her actions, calling them pathetic and soft. Now, older, and more informed in the pains of the world than she cared to be — though hers were so much more insignificant than Dani's, being secondhand — she understood the power behind gentleness, humility, and most of all, in love, in whatever sort of form it took. She saw the way that this battered, scarred, scratched, bruised (but not broken, never broken) woman had transformed her life and shown her the best side of herself as a human being.

Dani, in her turn, was beginning to understand that love didn't have to be the fairytale she had presumed it had to be; it was not bound by measure or circumstance, but rather lurked in the air and circumstances themselves like a note in a song, or a poet behind a verse. She was starting, at last, to see that every human being had its worth, and that she, as an individual, had her own and had, more importantly, the power to shape her own life. She saw, more clearly than ever in that moment, that life would hold strange things, things that she wasn't even sure she was ready for, but that she would live through and experience for all they were worth.

They would do it together.

 


	9. Love Me Through The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anybody there?
> 
> Also major trigger warnings for graphic depictions of rape and physical assault in the first half of this chapter, but it's just the italics so you can avoid it if you want and it won't hurt your understanding of the story. Then again, if those things bother you, you probably shouldn't be reading a story with rape/non-con in the tags . . .

_The fact that she could hardly see them didn't make what they were doing to her any less horrific. In the vague half-light, she caught blurred glimpses of her assailants – shining, sadistic eyes; cheeks reddened with drink and rage; the edge of a coat sleeve as it whipped across her face. Her senses were fading in and out like an old radio; she could tell that she was nearing unconsciousness, and though her body continued to be battered and torn apart, she welcomed the impeding nothingness. The pain would lessen when she fainted; she knew it from experience._

_In the meanwhile, they seemed to be doing everything they could to make her miserable. Her hearing was slipping, tuning back in occasionally to hear their rough grunts and persistent insults and degrading remarks muttered sloppily in her ears, but for the most part the world was a muffled blur of darkness and pain. There was nothing but the agony of being beaten within an inch of her life, and they hadn't even gotten to the worst of it yet. Already, they had kicked her almost until she lay limp upon the ground, hit her with everything they could reach, and still they hardly seemed to have gotten started._

_She trembled with fear as large, clumsy fingers prodded roughly at her. They had already torn the clothing from her body; she was half-sitting, half lying down on the wet, dirty ground with her back propped painfully against the bricks of the building. The ominous sound of a zipper being lowered filled her ears, and her panic increased at the realization of what they were about to do._

_"Please," she whimpered pitifully. "Please, please don't hurt me, please!" Her voice came out as nothing but a weak, shaky whine. They ignored her, muttering darkly amongst themselves, and then regrouped nearer to her body. A slap landed heavily across the side of her head, intended for her cheek, but missing in the dusk and colliding instead with her ear and the side of her eye. She let out a low cry of pain._

_"Stupid bitch," one of them spat venomously. Dani quaked with fear as big hands grasped her knees, roughly spreading her legs farther than they were intended to go. A moment later, her body jolted forwards in reaction to the searing pain spreading out from between her thighs as they entered her raw._

_Her high-pitched scream echoed off the walls of the alleyway, earning her another smack and a harsh kick in the ribs that slammed her body harder up against the brick wall. She felt one of the fragile bones snap, the pain spreading even more intensely when a hand came up to roughly grope at her chest._

_"Shut up, slut! Did I give you permission to speak?" Another slap, another cry of pain. A heavy blow landed across her head in retaliation, and Dani was stunned into silence. When her mind returned, she forced herself to be quieter, choosing instead to focus hard on making her body keep ahold of itself. A warm, sticky substance trickled down from the growing lump on her head, alerting her to the fact that she was bleeding. It was nothing compared to the agony that shot through her entire body with every thrust from the man above her, the burning pain forcing a desperate scream from her throat as he moved slightly, speeding up. She found herself to be screaming frantic pleas over and over, begging them to stop, to please, please, stop the pain, and her mind fell into a stupor._

_An hour and a half later, when each of the five seemed to have been satisfied, they left her there, each delivering a parting kick to her already broken ribs. One made a point of trodding on her ankle on the way out, and she heard the snap of a delicate bone, followed by a merciless laugh._

_Frozen and struggling to move beneath the waves of pain and nausea that engulfed her wasted body, Dani curled into the fetal position, the side of her face scraping the ground as she moved. It was raining out – pouring, possibly – and she almost welcomed the freezing water as it beat down upon her battered skin. Certainly, she didn't have the heart to attempt to shelter her face. Hot tears streamed from her open, terrified honey-brown eyes, coating her cheeks and leaking onto the dirty ground. Her body had gone limp and useless after the third assailant, who had stood her up and slammed her repeatedly into the hard brick wall. Her vision was going blurry from the blow to the head she had taken._

_Too severely shocked and injured to even so much as whimper one last time, Dani stared intensely at the edge of the nearby fire escape, wide-eyed, as if the sight of it would keep her from slipping away. But, as if against her will, her mind suddenly ceased to fight with her broken body, and she welcomed the darkness as it closed in and she was swept away into oblivion._

Dani surged out of sleep with a startled gasp, her body jolting upwards off the bed. For a moment, she remained terrified, still stuck in the nightmarish flashback she had been caught in. After a few moments, however, she slowly began to recognize her surroundings, and relaxed, exhausted, back into the pillows. This was the room that she shared with Santana, in the apartment with Rachel and Kurt. She was safe.

As Dani's breathing began to calm, a quiet knock sounded upon the door. Dani did not move as she responded, too tired and sweaty to roll over and answer.

"Come in," she said softly, hoping that whoever it was had heard her. She didn't think she was currently able to raise her voice any louder. The doorknob turned and Santana entered the room, balancing a plate in one hand and a mug of steaming liquid in the other. The brunette beamed at the sight of Dani awake, and shut the door quietly behind her before crossing the room to set down the dishes on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hey," Santana greeted with a warm smile. She reached out to tenderly tuck a strand of rogue blonde hair behind the smaller woman's ear. Dani smiled in return, finally mustering the energy to roll onto her back and face her.

"Hey," she responded, her voice equally as soft. She thought she sounded convincing enough, but something of her nightmare must have lingered in her eyes, for Santana's narrowed slightly, concerned.

"What's wrong, pretty girl?" she asked worriedly, stroking Dani's cheek with the back of her hand. "Do you feel sick? Should I call for Blaine?" Dani shook her head, her hair whispering across the fabric of the pillows.

"No," she responded quietly. "I just . . . it was just a nightmare." Santana didn't appear to be entirely convinced; her eyebrows furrowed anxiously.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to feel that you couldn't tell me if something was wrong," she encouraged gently. Dani shook her head again.

"I'm sure. I just got a little freaked out is all." Santana frowned worriedly.

"Was it a flashback?" she questioned softly. Dani bit her lip, and then nodded. "Oh, honey," Santana murmured, stroking a hand through tangled hair. "I'm so sorry. I know it's hard." Dani merely nodded, choosing not to speak out of fear that something would come out of her mouth that she wished to suppress. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Did Dani want to talk about it? Eventually, yes; Santana had made it clear that she could confide in her, and she wanted to be able to get things off her chest. In her wildest dreams, she imagined that Santana would not be disgusted with her for what had been done to her, but would hold her and comfort her, allowing her to talk without judgment of the horrible things in her life that had occurred. But now wasn't the time. This was too fresh of a beginning to grow that close.

Dani didn't even know if she ever could. She wasn't afraid of Santana anymore, not exactly, and there was definitely something in her that drew Dani in, but she didn't know how far her overall trust would be able to extend. In any case, it was too far to push it now. Her wounds were just healing; she didn't want to open them up again to let them bleed anew and leave even deeper scars than before.

"Dani? Dani, are you all right?" Dani blinked herself back to earth. She hadn't realized that Santana was speaking; she seemed to have spaced out something important. Immediately, a twinge of slight guilt and fear rose up within her, only to be swiftly pushed back down. She didn't have to be afraid of Santana, and she had somewhat begun to accept that, but her old instincts still lived strong within her, and she wasn't sure that she would be able to curb her reflexes anytime soon.

"I'm fine," she murmured offhandedly. She didn't quite meet Santana's eyes. Santana bent down to peer into her face.

"Dani, please look at me, sweetheart," she coaxed gently. Dani's eyes remained downcast. "Dani, I know you're not fine. I'm not going to push you to talk about it right now, and we've got to get you ready for the day anyways, but I want you to remember that I'm here, and I'm always willing to listen. I'd love it if you could feel safe enough to talk to me about what you're feeling," she said honestly. Dani's eyes flicked up, but still she hesitated. Maybe she could talk to Santana, but it didn't feel like now was the right time. She was too worked up at this point from her nightmare to allow for a rational conversation, and she knew that Santana wanted her to remain as calm as possible. Being anxious at this point wasn't going to help her heal, especially not so soon after falling ill.

"Can we just — can you help me get ready now?" she asked tentatively. "I think I might be ready to talk to you soon, but I — I — not now," she finished, stumbling a little over her words. A small frown flashed across Santana's tight features; Dani had been like this for several days, ever since they got back from the hospital. The first day back, she had been fine, sticking to the same cautious yet carefree attitude she had assumed back in the psych ward. Now, however, back in the real world, her emotions seemed to be taking a toll. Santana didn't like to see Dani's fears creeping back in on her again, but she didn't want to push her too far in the act of trying to stop her insecurities from worsening. It was one thing on top of another.

At the moment, Dani's comfort came first.

"Sure," Santana granted, and stood up off the bed. She allowed Dani to crawl out from beneath the covers on her own, but extended a steadying hand once the girl had made it somewhat clumsily to her feet. Dani grabbed at it gratefully, and shot the brunette a brief smile.

Santana proceeded to guide her into the bathroom, where the smaller girl quickly showered, before helping her into a pair of jeans and a loose, black, button-up three-quarter-sleeved shirt. As she did so, she was careful to avert her eyes from Dani's body. Sure, Dani was attractive — beautiful, even — but the weight of what had happened to her still hung heavy over the situation, and the older, more mature Santana of today wasn't one to push past her boundaries when it would result in another person's discomfort. Dani had been through a horrific ordeal — many more than one, in fact — and Santana respected that even merely being around other people made her nervous. The young woman's ribs were still injured and tender, and her ankle and wrist still throbbed, but the bruises were slowly beginning to fade everywhere but around her hips and the base of her throat, serving as an ugly reminder of the terrible things she had endured.

Once Dani was dressed, she allowed Santana's gentle hands to lead her to the bed and sit her on the edge of the mattress, tangling her hands into darkening platinum tresses with a tentative care that showed her the origin of Santana's hidden, compassionate inner nature. Dani knew very little about Santana; her knowledge was limited to the few aspects of her personality that she had shared with her. Nevertheless, it was evident to her that there was a lot more to the woman than there seemed to be. In her few short weeks with Dani, Santana had been nothing but caring and attentive. It was obvious that beneath whatever exterior she presented to others, there was a warm, passionate soul with an instinct to heal and nurture.

"Do you have any food allergies or dislikes I should know about?" Santana broke Dani from her train of thought. Dani bit her lip. She didn't want to appear too pathetic, especially not so soon after her introverted weeks in the hospital, but it would probably pay at this point to tell Santana the truth.

"I'm not allergic to anything, as far as I know, but my knowledge is . . . limited," she confessed in a quiet tone. "I've never disliked anything; I mostly ate out of dumpsters as a kid, and I was lucky if I got much to eat on any given day. I've never had the best relationship with food." Santana's hands paused where they were combing through her hair; in the mirror, Dani could see her look up at her, shocked.

"What?" Her entire expression was working to convey her combined disbelief and outrage. Dani only shrugged.

"What are you expecting me to tell you, Santana? That I've had a great home life? A comfortable upbringing? You basically found me lying in pieces on the street, and I recently had a seizure because I'm malnourished; tell me that's not indicative of a shitty life." Santana's mouth opened and closed for a few moments; she stared intensely through the mirror, her dark eyes so intent that Dani was forced to duck her head and look away. After a minute, when it became clear that she would not be able to form a response appropriate enough, she cleared her throat and resumed her detangling of Dani's hair.

"Well, you're here now," was all she said, but Dani understood the words that she wasn't letting out. It was reassurance that she would be nourished, rested, and treated with loving care. It was Santana's promise to try to make her life better, and Dani, despite her many worries, was grateful and accepting. She would allow them to make trial of this.

She wanted to grow; as a little boy wants to grow big and strong, so Dani felt rising up suddenly within her the urge to progress, to find health and safety and comfort as she had never known it before. Though critically damaged and beaten perhaps beyond repair, her body was young. In that outer youth, Dani felt hope. It was almost too much to wish for, but perhaps someday she could be just as any other regular person: confident, happy; an individual.

Maybe she could even be a woman someday in the way that she knew Santana had to be (though she flinched inwardly at the thought, both from her own memories and an odd twinge of some other emotion she couldn't entirely place). The thought of trusting another person to that extent made her wary, and she doubted that she would ever achieve that level of trust and loving commitment, but a part of her yearned for it in the way that a living plant yearns for the sunlight. She had been mistreated enough in her time, but she could not deny the fact that a slight flutter ran through her at the thought of giving herself willingly to someone that she trusted — assuming that she ever did trust in that way.

A picture of the journal she had kept as a young girl flashed through her mind, and the memory of a messily sketched image of two women in white brought a faint smile to her lips.

* * *

"So Dani, now that you're more or less settled in, Kurt, Rachel, Santana and I wanted to talk over some things with you," Blaine said that night during dinner. Dani froze with her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes fixed on him nervously. She trusted Santana, and she trusted Blaine, but she was still getting accustomed to the presence of the two fussy, outspoken divas, and she wasn't at all sure what their opinion of her was. Why did they want to talk to her? Had she done something wrong?

"Don't worry," Kurt interjected with a reassuring glance, laying a hand affectionately on his boyfriend's arm. "It's nothing bad. We just want to make sure that everyone here is on the same page about what the next part of our lives might entail." His smile was comforting, as though he had known of her worries. Perhaps he had; she did not know whether the four of them observed her when her attention was otherwise occupied.

"O — okay." She mentally cringed at the sound of her own stutter; she had thought she was cured of that. Maybe changing was going to be a bit more difficult than she had originally though. Being caught up in the heat of the moment always made her feel like she could accomplish anything; her last night at the hospital, she had been of such uplifted spirits that she had felt almost healed. Now, it was not so much that her fears were returning as they were lingering; she was only overwhelmed by the suddenness of having to cope with reality, sheltered though it was. It was confusing to her how her emotions would soar and plummet so suddenly and drastically without reason or forewarning.

"So first of all, we've all agreed that Santana will be the one to stay home with you during the day," Rachel informed her from across the table. "Eventually, though, she'll need to work some Saturdays, in which case you can pick either Kurt or myself to stay with you. Our ultimate goal for you is that you will eventually feel comfortable enough with your environment to stay home alone, but that will come much later. For now, you're going to be under our care — or Santana's, if you want to be specific about it."

"I'll help you out with anything you need," Santana broke in softly. Dani's head snapped to turn in her direction. No one missed the significance of the movement; while she had clearly been listening to the rest of them, this was her first active engagement. Neither eye contact nor attentive body language had been employed before now.

"Like what?" Dani found herself asking.

"Like food, panic attacks; the basic necessities, as well as anything else you might need," Santana explained. "The two of us can work out the details later. You can ask me for anything; if you want to play music, that's great; if you want to read, or walk, or watch movies, or just sit quietly, that's fine too. You may do anything you'd like here, including talking to me if you need to. I'm not here to push you into anything, but just know that I'm here," she added quietly. Dani simply nodded, keeping her face a careful mask, but the others saw the dull flicker of thought in her eyes. After a moment, when it was apparent that she wasn't going to voice what was on her mind, Blaine spoke up in his turn.

"We've also got your health issues to worry about," he broke in. "I've been waiting to talk to you personally about it, but Santana says that you might not be comfortable speaking to me alone. Do you mind discussing it here?" he asked seriously. Dani swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling her trachea constrict. She didn't want Rachel and Kurt to hear anything they didn't need to; in fact, she didn't want anybody to know anything besides what they already did — being the subject of conversation was stressful enough already. She had just managed to start convincing herself that her old problems from her younger years weren't going to affect her here, but having people know just how far her abuse and neglect had gone made her feel weak and flawed, like an injured kitten waiting to get crushed by a giant boot, or worse, by pity. Pity wasn't going to erase what had happened, and it certainly wasn't going to make things better. If anybody had to know, she wanted someone who would take the information in and put it to good use instead of spending their time treating her like some helpless, invalid child.

As she thought of that, she realized what she wanted.

"I'd like just you and Santana, please," she said softly but firmly, her voice small in the comfortable room. "I'm sorry, I'm just . . . I'm not comfortable with everybody knowing what's wrong with me. Thank you for dinner; I really do appreciate it." She directed her apology at Kurt and Rachel, both of whom nodded understandingly, not looking the least offended, and rose silently to clear their plates and retire to their respective bedrooms. No one had missed the honesty in her tone, and all had realized that if she was summoning the courage to speak her mind, the topic was of great importance to her.

"Dani, the fact is that your body is in very weak condition," Blaine said frankly once the other two had left. He drew his chair up closer to the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop earnestly. "Pretty much every one of your physiological systems is at its lowest point, due especially to your severe malnutrition. Your immune system is consequentially weak, which makes you especially susceptible to illness. You and Santana are going to have to be exceedingly cautious." Dani nodded once to show that she understood, but she did not respond. She could feel Santana's eyes on her from the side, and wondered if she was critiquing her. Instinctively, she sat up a little bit straighter, holding her head back as far as she could.

"What about her injuries?" Santana asked. "How should we deal with that?" Blaine gave them both a serious once over, his eyes steady and professional.

"Injuries will heal with time," he said carefully. "What I'm most concerned about, Dani, is the toll, both physiological and psychological, that certain . . . events have taken on you. Santana, I'm counting on you here," he addressed her directly. She jumped slightly at the mention of her name, having been engrossed in watching Dani's impeccably positioned eyebrows knit and contract in reaction to Blaine's statements. "This is going to require a tremendous amount of work on all of our parts, but it will require a slightly different sort from you. You need to assume a certain role here, and while I think I can count on you to carry it all out by instinct, I need to make clear to you that there has never been a greater need for attentive care than there is now, here, with Dani. I know that in high school, you always . . ."

"Don't," Santana cut across swiftly. Dani missed the way her eyes turned slightly darker with something a little different from anger, the way they narrowed with some greater emotion, but Blaine did not. "Don't go there, Blaine, I swear I . . ." she drew herself in, seeming to wage a small battle in her mind, before letting out a long breath. "I know," she finished simply, tersely. "I know." There was a long, slightly tense pause, in which Dani kept her gaze cast firmly down at the tabletop. This entire situation was making her uncomfortable, but hearing the conviction in Santana's voice was giving her the sense that things in her life were going to be different from what they used to be, in the days before she had been found.

"Well." Blaine stood up, clearing his throat awkwardly into the silence. "I'd better go. I promised Kurt I'd take him out to dinner tonight, so I'll see you ladies later. Is there anything else you might need before I go?" he asked them both, eyeing each girl questioningly. When they both mutely shook their heads, he nodded, and shouldered his man purse proudly, strutting from the room as he called for Kurt to meet him at the door.

"So gay," Dani heard Santana mutter as the door shut behind the two boys. "I'd laugh, except that . . . well, I'd be a total hypocrite if I did." She didn't seem to be aware that Dani could hear her; aware of this, Dani stayed as still as possible, hoping that she would not get in trouble for overhearing. She tried not to read too much into the brunette's words, and instead focused on keeping her feet still. But, unfortunately, her leg had fallen asleep during Blaine's speech, and she was forced to move when it jerked abruptly in pain.

Immediately, Santana turned back to her, eyes wide in guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Dani," she apologized, seeming slightly flustered. "I got lost in my thoughts. Is there anything you need? Are you too cold? Would you like some more to eat?" Her gaze fell to Dani's plate, where only a few bites had been taken out of the small portion she had served herself. At the sight, and seeing the way that Dani was sitting nervously, scrunched backwards somewhat in her chair, her eyes went soft. Carefully, so as not to startle her, she scooted over two chairs to sit beside her. She did not fail to notice how Dani did not flinch or shrink away at the close proximity, instead settling to looking wary.

"Would you like to eat something different?" she asked, wondering if the blonde had discovered a food that she disliked. Not at all to her surprise, Dani shook her head.

"No thank you. I just . . . it's hard," she confessed quietly, not quite meeting the brunette's gaze. "I've never really had food placed in front of me. It makes me feel off." Santana smiled gently.

"Would it be any easier if I helped you out?" she suggested. "Maybe if I do, it'll make it easier to see that it's okay to eat in front of me." Dani only hesitated for a moment before nodding tentatively.

"Okay." Santana smiled.

Careful to move slowly so as not to startle her, she reached for Dani's fork and moved close enough to avoid making a mess. As Santana fed her, Dani watched her with something a little like wonder, and a lot like curiosity. She observed the way that Santana's forehead scrunched in concentration, and the way her eyes shone softly with tenderness and attentive warmth; she saw how easily her hands maneuvered their way between the fork and the plate and Dani's lips. She observed the fact that even in such small motions, the woman was graceful.

Something in the way Santana spoke to her drew Dani; it was basic yet comforting; steady, and at the same time, it was tender. It was the safest she had ever been made to feel by somebody else's words. The way she moved and treated her with nothing but gentleness and care made her feel, for the first time in her life, as though she were something worth care instead of a burden. For the first time, she realized just how much she trusted Santana. In fact, she was rapidly growing attached in a way she hadn't anticipated; one that she didn't quite know how to handle. Perhaps she should have expected this; Santana had unsettled her from the moment her eyes had focused on her on her very first morning there. But, strangely and most surprisingly of all to her, Dani found that she didn't mind.

Later that night, as she was drifting off into a fitful, nervous sleep once again, her final, lingering thoughts were of the gentle brunette who took such wonderfully good care of her. She did not notice, when she was asleep, that she rolled fretfully about beneath the covers, thrashing, and that Santana was the one who coaxed her from her nightmare with soothing touches and low, tender murmurs. Already, she was saving her from her terrors; Santana could not reverse time and prevent the events of twenty-something years from occurring, but she could save Dani in a new way, swooping in to rescue her from her dreams. And, as the dreams were what lingered, perhaps it was from them that it was most important that she was rescued.

Drowsily, halfway between sleeping and wakefulness, Dani was mostly unaware of the way that Santana smoothed her hair back gently from her sweaty forehead; she did not notice the way that she held her clammy hands and rubbed them warmly back to life. She did not wake entirely, either, to understand that it was Santana who had wrapped her in a warm blanket, and who had supported her neck as she held a glass of cool water to the blonde's lips. It was Santana's stuffed llama that the trembling girl snuggled up with, clutching it close to her chest and squeezing it, using the comfort of its presence to soothe her dreaming anxiety.

It was Santana who sang soft lullabies to her when she woke, screaming and sobbing, from a fit of nightmares so horrific that the images seemed to remain imprinted on the back of her eyelids and her scars almost seemed to burn, her torso still feeling the flaring hot agony of being ripped apart from the inside. Santana heard more than she let on during those nights; certainly more than Dani ever told her under the reminder of the daylight. She heard the blonde's whimpers and please to be left alone, to not be hurt; to _get him away from me_ , that _I'll do better, I promise,_ and for it to _stop, please stop._ When Dani woke from these fragmented horrors and was caught in her dreamland, still half asleep, Santana cooed gentle songs and promises to always be good to her, to never injure her, and to treat her with respect and kindness. She whispered promises to show her how it felt to heal in a loving, safe environment where every action was fueled by love and gentleness.

When Dani rolled over in bed beneath the soft, thick covers with a rustle of the sheets and comforter and buried her face in Santana's chest, nuzzling into the warm, bare skin until she found the soothing heartbeat, Santana never blinked an eye. She only wrapped careful, caring arms around the blonde and pulled her close, feeling her clutch at her sleep shirt with small, delicate hands. She tried to ignore the thumping in her chest when Dani tangled their legs together beneath the sheets, intertwining them so closely that it was hard to tell where one woman ended and the other began. She tried valiantly to repress the faint flutter of butterflies in her lower abdomen, swiftly growing less faint, whenever Dani's warm breath hit her neck. She ignored the way tiny muscles in the other woman's arms twitched and jumped in their position around her with her dreams, and instead focused on the fluttering of closed eyelids, once bruised purplish-pale, now fading to normal skin color with time.

When the gentle glow of morning light first began to lighten the dark sky, turning their room dusky, Santana would always pretend to be asleep as Dani first stirred, feeling her breathing grow rapider with wakefulness, and then sense her take in their position. She would continue to pretend as the blonde's breathing calmed when she fell for the act, and then feel her quickly settle back into her arms with a soft, contented sigh, nestling in with a sense of trust that made Santana's heart ache in the most beautiful and wonderful of ways. Her breathing would soon even out again, and her own would swiftly follow, and they would float off again into a dreamland much sweeter and securer than the last, calmed by the sense of security they felt wrapped in each other's arms.

 


	10. I'm A Mess (My Road Walking Me Home)

In the scattered evening light, Dani sat with her back against the wall, her good leg crossed underneath her body and her injured one stretched out straight in front of her. The guitar in her hands reflected the glow of the setting winter sun. Beams of red and orange filtered through the cold windowpanes, streaking the hardwood in thick blocks of color. There was very little sound but for the brief scratching of dull pencil tip on paper and the occasional restless movement of clothing for a long time.

It had been hours since she had entered the room alone after a late midday meal with the rest of her flatmates. Kurt and Rachel had gone off to some festive event at NYADA for the night, and Santana had fallen asleep watching movies on the couch. It was the first time in weeks that she had been truly alone, left without the presence of other humans or of the demons that enjoyed dangling inside her head. She was taking full advantage of the time; in the past few hours, she had written music only from the memory of the sound of each chord. The lyrics had swarmed through her head since when she woke in Santana's arms at dawn.

Raising a glass of water to take a small sip, she cleared her throat and began to play the notes that had been dancing in her head.

_You've been gone_   
_Fifteen hours now_   
_There's a storm rolling in_   
_The kitchen light's fading out_   
_I want to tell you_   
_But I don't know where to begin_

_There's a cloud in the sky outside little child_   
_There's rain threatenin' to come down_   
_There's a storm on the rise there's trouble in the skies_   
_There's sure to be some fallout_   
_Just remember that_   
_Somewhere out there_   
_There's a rainbow touching the ground_   
_There's nothing to cry about; honey don't make a sound_

_When you left_   
_People came round_   
_Questionin' where you'd gone_   
_I shut the door; let them wonder_   
_I wish you'd come home_   
_Instead I'm sitting here alone_

_There's a cloud in the sky outside little child_   
_There's rain threatenin' to come down_   
_There's storm on the rise there's trouble in the skies_   
_There's sure to be some fallout_   
_Just remember that_   
_Somewhere out there_   
_There's a rainbow touching the ground_   
_There's nothing left for you to cry for; little child don't make a sound_

_And I know and I know and I know you told me_   
_You told me a thousand times_   
_But I don't but I don't I don't know why_   
_You chose to let us go_   
_If you won't be comin' home_   
_Please tell me so I don't have a reason to hope_

_You know_   
_There's a cloud in the sky outside little child_   
_There's rain threatenin' to come down_   
_There's a storm on the rise there's trouble in the skies_   
_There's sure to be some fallout_   
_I said_   
_There's a cloud in the sky outside little child_   
_There's rain threatenin' to come down_   
_There's a storm on the rise there's trouble in the skies_   
_There's sure to be some fallout_   
_But remember that_   
_Somewhere out there_   
_There's a rainbow touching the ground_   
_Hope's not something you should cry for; my little child don't make a sound_

As the last chord dropped into the air, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Cheeks flushing, Dani straightened up with a cough, casting the papers scrawled with lyrics beneath the bed before assuming what she hoped to be a casual position.

"Come in," she responded lowly, half hoping that her reply would not be heard. She should have known better. People in this apartment seemed to have abnormally acute hearing. It was actually rather irritating; there was virtually no window for privacy.

Blaine popped his head around the corner of the doorjamb, his wet hair apparently freshly combed.

"Nice music, Dani," was his comment. Dani flushed brightly from the neck, and the boy laughed quietly. "Embarrassing, huh?" Dani shook her head, placing the guitar down on the side of the mattress to make her predicament seem less obvious.

"Not exactly. Just . . . my songs are personal," she explained softly, doing her best to make the admission sound offhanded. The ploy didn't work; Blaine's eyes softened, and his lips spread in a knowing smile.

"Do you mind me asking what that one was about?" he inquired gently. "It was beautiful, but you sounded . . . sad." She granted him a tiny smile for his observation.

"It's . . . just something that I wish someone had said to me," was her quiet response. Blaine took the statement as a hint not to say anything more, and gave her an understanding nod before backing out of the room. Dani sighed in relief once the door had closed. She didn't mind sharing things as much anymore — in fact, she was starting to think that it might perhaps be beneficial to do so more often — but her music was her heart and soul; her only escape. It was the only outlet she had ever had, her only safety. Many things had been stolen from her over the course of her life, but she would be damned if she ever let someone take her music away.

In the beginning, it had been her only safe place. Now that she no longer seemed to be in any immediate danger, it was morphing into a different method of expression. But, it would never take the backseat.

Maybe one day, if she finally managed to heal herself enough, it could even be something bigger.

* * *

When Dani stepped tentatively into the combined kitchen and dining room, skirting around the furniture nervously and staying near the edges of the room in a manner they had all come to be familiar with, Santana anticipated a multitude of scenarios and was surprised when none of them were accurate. For one thing, since she was cooking, she was half expecting a denial of hunger or an offer to assist in some way. For another, Dani had remained shut in their room all day, as was her custom, and had not yet greeted any of them. Perhaps guilt was on the table, or perhaps Dani was being made anxious by the fact that a fire-alarm test was scheduled for that evening, which would result not only in the presence of other humans, but in loud noises. Both were things that held an element of fear for her despite the fact that this was her fourth month with them, and her third week out of the hospital.

So, accordingly, Santana was much surprised when Dani skittered into the kitchen wearing a flattering crimson blouse and dark jeans, makeup attractively applied.

"I'm ready to talk," she announced quietly. Instantly, Santana reached down and switched off the burner she was tending to. She set down the wooden spoon and the oven mitt and turned to face Dani with her arms folded across her chest. Food dealt with, she opened her mouth to comment, or to give the go-ahead signal, but a last-minute detail caught her eye and the words that escaped her were not at all what she intended.

"Your hair looks different." Dani shot her a bemused look before reaching up absently to twiddle with a strand of hair. She looked down, back up, then down again, and appeared to remember what had happened.

"Oh, yeah — I uh, I washed the rest of the dye out last night," she admitted with a shrug. "The blonde was on its last legs, and I didn't even really like it anyways." Santana's eyes appraised the dark chestnut curls spilling over the edge of the blouse, and she decided she liked the look. Moreover, once she got past the physical aspect of it, she was impressed. There was simply no way that Dani would have had the courage to take charge of her body in such a way two months ago. Nor, even if she had done that, would she have had the nerve to say out loud — albeit in a somewhat roundabout way — that her own opinion of herself actually counted for something.

Hell, Santana wasn't just impressed; she was proud.

"So I uh, I think — can we talk?" Dani blurted out when Santana continued to do nothing but gaze at her in admiration. Santana snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head slightly before realizing that the movement could be taken as a refusal to Dani's request. Hastily, she nodded, recovering her error, and gestured towards the kitchen table invitingly.

"Of course. Would you like to sit down?" Dani shook her head.

"I think I'd prefer to stand." She offered Santana a slight smile. "If you don't mind, that is," she added, a hint of her old insecurities slipping in. Santana smiled in return.

"Not at all; go right ahead. Do you want me to ask you things, or would you rather just tell me?" she asked. Dani drew her plump lower lip between her teeth, contemplative.

"Just tell you." It seemed to cost her something to admit it; understanding, Santana leaned back against the counter, ready to listen.

"Whenever you're ready," she said graciously. Dani's shoulders seemed to freeze up somewhat; she drew a quiet, short breath. She closed her eyes, and for several long moments, she seemed to only exist, not moving, not breathing; hovering somewhere in a balance between thought and speech. Then, abruptly, she turned on her heel and crossed the room to run her fingertips along the frame of a picture on the wall. It was an old painting of a lake, given to them by a friend of Kurt's from NYADA.

"When I was six years old, my mother died," she let out in a rush. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, holding still, as if the universe was anticipating a reaction. When no cosmic event occurred, another breath was drawn. She continued, "She left behind no money for her husband to pay her debt and a pathetic excuse for a mortgage that the bank didn't even bother to foreclose. I'm not even sure it was legal, anyway. My stepfather was a drunken man who thought he loved my mother and who hated me, and once she died he. . . didn't want me in his way." She allowed the words to hang in the air for a long moment. Something in the coldness of her tone told Santana that this story would not be a happy one.

"He was a bastard," Dani hissed, now apparently intently examining her fingernails. "He was a drunken, vile asshole who took his _grief_ out on his wife's child. Unfortunately, being soaked in booze didn't stop him from figuring out new ways to do it. He was very . . . _creative_ in his punishments." A hard knot formed in Santana's throat and slipped all the way down into her stomach. It twisted there, weighted and icy, and she was suddenly fighting the urge to throw up.

"He hurt me," Dani said, raising her eyes to meet Santana's, and her voice dropped to a tight whisper. "Though I guess you've probably figured out that. He did everything he could to try to end my existence without actually killing me. There were nights when I wasn't sure whether I would live till morning because I was certain he was going to murder me in my sleep. Sometimes, on the mornings when I'd wake up and he'd declare a day _home sick_ from school, I'd wish he had. Then one night, my sophomore year, he almost did." She paused, seeming to struggle for air, and Santana nearly reached out.

She was stopped by the fire of pure, raging hatred burning in Dani's eyes. It was a look she had never seen on her before; the sight of it was intense, and the contrast between it and the woman's usually uncertain demeanor was astounding. By the flashing fierceness behind those eyes, it was clear to Santana that in another life, this wouldn't be a woman she would ever want to cross. It was evident that this was a rant Dani had not expelled in a long time — maybe ever. Santana decided that the healthiest thing to do was to let the anger run its course, and she was still curious. This was the most she had ever heard of Dani's story.

Seemingly overwhelmed with intensity, Dani ripped her gaze away, and walked a short distance away to fiddle with the leaves of a potted plant in the corner of the kitchen. It was several minutes before she spoke again.

"He broke seventeen of my ribs," she continued when she had regained control over her angry brain and stilled her lips and tongue. "One of them snapped into thirds and punctured my right lung in two places. Another got ripped totally out of place and jammed upwards. It missed my heart, but not by much. My right arm broke; my left shoulder got dislocated. My collarbone snapped. He cracked my skull on both sides, chipped a disk in my neck, and broke my jaw. It still pops when I swallow," she added with a humorless laugh. The sound was flat and dead sounding in the warm room.

"Fucker." Santana startled herself with her own interjection. Dani laughed once more, and again the sound held no mirth.

"He wasn't the only one," she said darkly. "Just the first. There were others; after that little incident, social services took me, put me in the foster system. I was in it until a few months ago, when I finally got my shit together enough to earn some money and get myself the fuck out of there. I came to New York thinking that it would be different; that I would be safe. Then those dickheads found me in the park and ruined everything I thought I'd gained." She turned, looking Santana straight in the eyes in a maneuver that startled them both and holding the contact far longer than either of them anticipated.

"And then you found me," she concluded. Suddenly, all hint of fury had dissipated; the hatred had vanished from her eyes, and she was once again the small, sweet Dani Santana had come to know.

"And then I found you," she echoed, staring straight into honey eyes. Still not breaking eye contact, she acted on instinct alone and reached out both hands in a silent offer. She watched as the young woman continued to gaze at her warily before feeling the weight of Dani's hands being placed into her own. Their heaviness settled, fingers adjusted, and the remaining touch of skin on skin felt secure, like a promise being made. Without clear knowledge of what she was about to do, Santana leaned forward, dipped her head down, and pressed her lips to Dani's forehead. Her lips pressed their hope into warm flesh, searing in their promise with gentle pressure; an assurance. When she pulled away, their synchronized breaths were choked and heavy.

Dani's eyes were like swirling lakes of molten joy.

* * *

"Rachel! Rachel, I think I'm dying!" Rachel came skidding around the corners on the hardwood wrapped only in her towel to find Dani standing with her hands outstretched at the bathroom door. The sight of fresh blood on the other girl's right hand nearly made her faint. Quickly, she checked Dani for any signs of outward injury. When she found none, she looked to Dani with a querying expression.

"I'm bleeding . . . and my stomach hurts. A lot. Right here." Dani moved her hands to mime rubbing at a spot just above the top of her yoga pants, and something clicked in Rachel's brain. She fell back with a sigh of relief.

"Dani, hun, you're not dying; you're just on your period." Dani shot her a confused glance. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What?" Her hand remained flat against her lower abdomen, pressing down firmly as if in attempt to suck the ache out of her muscles and into her palm. Rachel stared from Dani's hand to her frightened face for a long moment; her eyes flickered back and forth, attempting to sort out why she didn't understand.

After a tense few seconds of confusion, the answer came to her, and she moved closer to the worried girl. Dani backed away nervously.

"Rachel what's . . . what's going on with me? Am I sick? Did I need to get stitches for something and it got missed? I'm not going to die, am I? I don't want to die yet," Dani blurted out, backing into the wall. Her shoulder blades collided with the sheetrock with a painful jab, and she instinctively brought up her other hand to rest on top of the first. Rachel smiled reassuringly and shook her head.

"No, honey, you're not going to die," she promised with an easy smile. "This is completely normal." Dani's eyebrows scrunched together worriedly.

"You're sure?" Hearing that she still sounded fearful, Rachel reached out a hand for her to take. Dani eyed it warily for a moment before accepting the hold with hesitant fingers. Entangled, Dani's trembling fingers made Rachel's shake, too.

"I'm sure, honey," Rachel soothed with a smile. "Although I think that you and I need to have a little talk. It's nothing bad, I promise," she assured, backtracking at the sight of Dani's wide eyes. "There are just some things you should know; it's not your fault that no one's talked to you about them before, but you're . . . how old are you?" Rachel trailed off, realizing that she had missed out on this important piece of information about the girl. Dani shot her an odd look, but answered regardless.

"I'm twenty-two," she responded carefully. "I think. I was born in ninety-three; it said that on my papers. I think that makes me twenty-two." Her fingers tugged slightly to free themselves from Rachel's eager grip. The diva nodded, displaying a much more collected version of what her response would typically be. She understood that at the present time, what Dani needed was for her to remain calm. She would ask questions later, or better yet, get Santana to ask them. Santana clearly had a way with Dani that none of the rest of them seemed to possess.

"You're twenty-two," she continued calmly. "And you needed to know these things years ago. So I'm going to show you how to get comfortable and then we're going to talk, okay? We can sit on the couch and eat pizza or something, if you'd like." Dani shook her head at the mention of food.

"I don't eat without Santana." Rachel frowned.

"Dani, it's just a piece of pizza; it . . ."

"I don't eat without Santana," Dani reiterated, finally succeeding in pulling her fingers away from Rachel's. "But the couch is okay. We can sit there. To talk." Rachel hesitated, noting the way that Dani's tone was clipped and her expression stony, concealing certain anxiety. Seeing the way the woman drew her lip between her teeth and crossed her arms agitatedly, she almost changed her mind. The words were on the tip of her tongue when she realized how important it was that this be discussed with her new roommate. Dani needed to be informed, especially after all that she had been through. At this point, it would be criminal for her to be unaware of the workings of her own body.

Rachel smiled encouragingly and beckoned with her hand, and Dani followed her stumblingly into the living room.

* * *

That evening, as Dani sat curled in the corner of the shower, her legs drawn up beneath her chest to shield her body from the bullet-like droplets, her mind raced at a million miles an hour. She hardly noticed the frigid water pummeling her skin, the drops shattering on impact and splashing out across her tattoos. Somehow, the wetness seemed to darken them, making them fade and smooth into the creases of her skin.

_You are a woman._ Rachel's voice echoed in her head, sounding strange and foreign when contorted by memory. She hadn't understood, at first, what Rachel had meant by her words. Dani was not a woman — at least, not so far as she could tell. A woman was an adult, a grown-up person with a stable income and a husband and a regular nine-to-five job; that was what she had been taught all her life, by her stepfather, by her teachers, and by the various cookie-cutter couples that had been rich enough or desperate enough to take her in during her later years.

Truth be told, Dani's own idea of a woman was slightly different from what she had been taught. Despite the terror that had previously discouraged her from even _thinking_ for herself, the image had popped into her mind unbidden. When Rachel had mentioned women, the first vision that had come to her was of someone with a secure past, with none of the demons or weaknesses that haunted her own existence. A woman was without fault or flaw or fragility, all of which she had, and beyond that, she looked nothing like the image that was conjured in the backs of her eyes. Santana was a woman; Rachel was a woman; the people she saw on the streets were women. Dani was not a woman.

The people who had taken her into their homes had not taught her well enough for her to understand that she could formulate her own opinion, and especially not of a matter such as this. They had forced her to choke down their beliefs and values; they had scorched her mind with their distorted perceptions of life. They had not assumed responsibility for her; that would imply that they had given her some degree of thought and care. If that had been the case, she would have known all of what Rachel had painfully explained to her over the past hour and a half.

_If you have any questions at all,_ she remembered that Rachel had said, _you can ask me whatever you'd like._ And though she had been caught up in mortification over what the diva had been describing, Dani had taken a degree of advantage of the opportunity to gain a little knowledge of how . . . _things_ . . . generally worked. That being said, there was still much that she didn't know or even have a good chance of comprehending at the present time.

Thinking back on one of the topics that had been brought up, Dani felt her cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment. What Rachel had been describing hadn't necessarily been repulsive or _wrong,_ but even the mere _thought_ of such things was somewhat off-putting to Dani. Never before had she entertained such thoughts. In the past, her body had been taken possession of, and she had not grown to see it as her own; it had merely been an object for others to use as they pleased, and for her to be ashamed of. Now, knowing that she was, at least, relatively safe for the first time in her life, she couldn't help but be curious despite her discomfort with the subject.

Caught in her thoughts, Dani automatically glanced down through the surge of water, and her eyes caught blurred glimpses of her own pale flesh. Something in the sight piqued her curiosity, and she abruptly shifted to sit up slightly straighter. It was still blurry that way, but a little less so; she could see the water catching against the roughness of her scars and streaming in dancing rivers across her skin.

Tentatively, she brought her hands up from where they had been lying flat against the cold tile of the shower floor. First, hesitantly, she touched the pads of her fingertips to her temples. When no calamity occurred, no buzzing electric shock, she resumed movement. Slowly, she brushed up the sides of her face to her forehead, and then back down by the bridge of her nose. They smoothed out the skin above her eyelids, and then moved to her cheeks.

With each inch of skin touched, she felt every particle beneath her fingertips; every bump and scratch and sleek expanse where the delicate structure of bones could be felt underneath. Her hands traversed the short distance down the defined tendons of her neck to her collarbone, and from there across the tops of her shoulders. She continued the sweep down her arms by her inner elbow to her wrist, palm, and fingertips, and paused a moment there, examining the lines of her hand, her nails, and the tiny webs of skin between her the bases of her fingers. Then she continued back up the outside of her arm and returned to her neck, halting for a tense moment before venturing downwards.

She neglected to touch right away, sweeping her hands down the valley between her breasts before dancing lightly over her abdomen, which still twinged dully with the pangs of tensing muscles. She felt the scars there, more numerous than elsewhere save her wrists. Her upper ribcage was littered with bumpy remnants of cuts and vicious carvings, and to touch them elicited a slight spasm of leftover fear within her diaphragm, but she touched them regardless. She had suddenly been consumed by a need to explore, to remind herself that she really was still in one piece, and perhaps to prove something else that she was not quite aware of yet.

As her fingers dragged over her midsection, she marveled at how her ribs were already less sharply outlined against her skin. She had put on a little weight, though whether that was due to her current predicament or the regularity of her food intake, she wasn't entirely sure. It was why, Rachel had told her, she was experiencing this newfound area of _womanhood._ This was the heaviest she had ever been in her life; it made sense that it would happen now, when her body was being sustained enough to support its vital functions. It allowed for the possibility of the occurrence of other, less critical things.

Her first thought when she noticed the change was that Santana would be happy. Santana had worked so hard over the past couple of weeks to encourage her to get into the habit of consuming regular meals, steadily increasing the amount of food as time went on. It was oddly clear to her that with this, Santana's only objective was for her to be healthy. It was the first time another's motives had been both obvious and benign, and for that, she was grateful.

After lingering on her ribcage for several minutes, Dani summoned up the courage to bring her hands a little higher to brush the undersides of her breasts. Instantly, her eyes snapped shut and her breathing grew slightly frantic, spooked by the onslaught of horrific memories that flooded through her at the feeling. The thoughts that crowded into her mind were awful and caused her to twitch slightly where she sat, making her want to rip her hands away and continue her shower in peace, but something in her made her hold back. Tensely, she held the panic at bay and attempted to steady her breathing. After a long moment, she gradually pulled all of her fingers away, with the exception of her thumbs, which she left resting there, the sides of her knuckles brushing against her skin.

Several minutes later, she moved them again. Immediately, there came the same response, but again she would not permit herself to budge. Three times she repeated the process, until she had moved her hands almost an inch across her skin. Then something in her told her to do no more, at least not at the present time, and she allowed her hands to drop. Her breathing was labored and heavy; still a little anxious, though less so than when she had begun. As the feeling of hands on flesh faded away, her pounding heart gradually slowed, and her body relaxed against the shower wall. A small smile spread across her face.

It wasn't everything it could have been, but it was certainly a start.

* * *

"So I hear you taught my girl some inappropriate life lessons?" The throw pillow, lobbed from across the room with precise aim, collided with the back of Rachel's head. Rachel twisted on the couch to glare at the smirking perpetrator, who sat with her hands folded inoffensively in her lap. She snatched the pillow out of the air expertly as it was fired back in her direction, and caught Rachel's eye with a wink and a mock glare.

"She needed to know, Santana! And for your information, it was quite possibly the most awkward discussion of my life; I didn't enjoy it any more than she did!" Santana scoffed.

"Yeah right Berry, you probably enjoyed lecturing someone about something non-Broadway related you knew about that they didn't, for once," she snorted, inhaling a good portion of her ice cream. It was vanilla. She scrunched her face. "Besides," she added once she had cleared her nose. "She probably didn't even _want_ to know. What sparked this conversation, anyways?" Rachel cleared her throat. Her eyes traveled to Kurt on the couch, seemingly focused intently on the latest episode of _Real Housewives of New Jersey._

"Santana, could we maybe . . ." she gestured subtly to the kitchen. Catching the hint, Santana nodded.

"So? What happened?" she asked once they were out of earshot. Rachel folded her arms with a worried look.

"She got her . . . you know . . . _time of the month,_ and she totally panicked. She didn't know what was happening. Tell me of any other twenty-two-year-old you know who panics when they get their period. I mean, obviously she'd never had it before because she's so underweight, but nobody had ever _told_ her about it. She needed to know." Santana cringed at the wording but permitted a shrug.

"That was her business, Berry. You shouldn't have butted in," she said offhandedly. She did a good job of concealing her worry.

"Santana, she thought she was _dying._ It took me at least half an hour to convince her that she wasn't bleeding out. I had to do _something."_ Remarkably, Santana's face remained impassive.

"Still, you didn't need to give her a full health class lecture. You could have just . . . I don't know . . . edged your way around the subject?" she flapped her arms in demonstration. Rachel's gaze turned reproachful.

"Santana Lopez, don't you dare tell me you wouldn't have done absolutely _everything_ you could to comfort that poor girl if the situation came up." Santana's eyes narrowed.

"I . . ."

"Exactly," Rachel cut in firmly. "I did what I could to calm her down. It's not like I presented her with birth control and a box of condoms and told her to abstain or the world would frown upon her. I told her what was happening to her, answered all of her questions, and gave her an ibuprofen so that she could sleep off the worst of the cramps. Now, is there something else you'd like to bother me about? Or can I get back to running my Fannie Brice lines again?" Santana snorted as she crossed the room to open the cupboard.

"You already know those lines by heart, Dwarfie. I'm pretty sure you've been reciting them in your sleep since you were old enough to dream."

"You can never know them too well!" shrieked Rachel, halfway out the door. "And I need to practice _expression!"_

Santana only chuckled to herself, pulling a box of tea out of the cupboard and setting a pot of water on to boil.

* * *

Balancing a full mug in one hand and a small book in the other, Santana attempted to knock on her bedroom door. After some finagling in which her anklebone attained a moderately severe bruise, she managed to bump her knee against the wood in some a version of a knock. A strained _come in_ sounded, and she nudged the door open with her hip.

Dani looked up from Rachel's worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Though slightly pained, her eyes lit up at the sight of Santana, a small smile flitting across her lips. Santana immediately noticed the way she was sitting, curled up with her knees tight against her chest, and how her eyebrows were drawn close together with discomfort.

"I brought you some tea," she said softly. Moving carefully across the room, she set the mug of hot liquid down on the bedside table. "It sometimes helps me when my cramps are bad." Dani threw her a weak smile of gratitude. The action looked a little strained.

"Thank you," she murmured, accepting the drink gratefully. Curling up further against her pillow, she took a slow sip. Her eyes fluttered closed at the soothing feeling of warmth curling down into her body. A moment later, when she realized that Santana was still standing at the bedside, waiting, she opened her eyes again. Accustomed to Dani's habit of keeping her gaze downcast, Santana was startled when dark honey eyes made direct contact with her own. The jolt that ran through her unsettled her momentarily, and she was rendered paralyzed for a short moment before she could gather her scattered nerves up and clear her brain.

"Uh — you're welcome," she stammered, and instantly was mentally dousing herself in the hot tea she had just handed over. Since when did she stumble over her words? Dani was upturning her entire, perfectly fabricated façade. It was a little silly, if she thought about it enough; that after all her years of dealing with abrasive individuals like Rachel, it was _Dani_ who had cracked open her shell. This girl was going to be the death of her.

Dani let out a quiet laugh that was stiffened by the edges of the mug near her lips. "Something making you nervous?" she teased lightly. Santana noted the way that she toyed with the edges of the cup, fingertips tracing swirling patterns across the painted ceramic. She gave her a warm smile.

"Not particularly," she returned casually, eyeing the edge of the mattress. She gestured towards it with a quirked eyebrow. "May I sit? I'd like to talk to you for a minute," she requested. Immediately, Dani's whole body tensed; she drew her legs up tighter to her chest and pulled in her hands closer, still cradling her tea. Her eyes were abruptly wary, and Santana was filled with guilt at the sight. It made her sad to think that Dani still had trouble trusting her on occasion. "It's okay," she reassured, seeing that the girl had scooted farther up on the bed. "I was only wondering something." Hearing that, Dani's body relaxed most of the way. Her large brown eyes blinked lazily up at Santana, questioning, but she nodded slowly.

Santana hadn't really noticed before how long Dani's eyelashes were.

"Why don't you know for sure how old you are?" she blurted out. Distracted by the sight of Dani's eyes, she hadn't thought to phrase her question more eloquently. Instantly, she grew anxious, wondering if Dani would balk at such an inquiry. Sure enough, the young woman shifted a little where she sat. She ducked her head down, lowering her eyes to the quilt.

"I . . . birthdays weren't exactly . . . _celebrated_ in my house, growing up," she said finally. One of her hands played absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt. "My mother was either too drunk or too busy getting drunk to remember, and after she died, my stepfather made a point of keeping me as miserable as possible — especially when that involved me being my own person. As far as he was concerned, I was just a piece of meat." Santana was incredulous.

"So you've never had a birthday party?" was all that she managed to respond with. She stared in bewilderment at Dani, who shook her head with only an accompanying shrug of indifference.

"No." Santana was astounded; Dani didn't even seem to be aware that she was missing anything.

"What about a dinner? Visiting relatives? Presents?" Dani's shoulder twitched at the mention of relatives, but it was her only visible response.

"Nope." Santana blinked.

"No _presents?"_ she asked disbelievingly. Dani shook her head.

"No presents." Santana gaped at her in pure astonishment. Dani, oddly enough, didn't seem the least perturbed by the woman's persistent stare. When Santana cleared her throat in a loud show of shock, she didn't even flinch.

"Did you ever even have a _cake?"_ the dumbfounded Latina finally asked in desperation, seemingly desperate to find at least one small piece of evidence that pointed towards a proper birthday celebration.

"Once, I think," Dani said offhandedly. "When I was little. There's a picture of it somewhere. It was at school, so I guess the teacher made it for the class, or something." She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and Santana had to withhold a giggle at the adorableness of the expression.

"What is it?" She didn't understand why the mention of cake would conjure up a disgusted expression; the memory that Dani had mentioned appeared to be a happy one. Dani hesitated.

"I don't think I like cake," she admitted after a moment. Santana threw her head back and laughed, leaving Dani to look on, bewildered. "What did I say?" she wanted to know when the brunette couldn't stop giggling. Santana wiped away tears with another little huff of breath.

"I don't like cake either," she explained once she had regained control of herself. "I think it's gross. Rachel says that it's just a vessel for frosting, but that seems a little pointless. Why not just eat the frosting without anything to go with it at all?" Dani frowned.

"What does frosting taste like?" she queried.

Santana actually went pale.

"Wha — it — you — _you've never tasted frosting?"_ she finally croaked disbelievingly. Slowly, Dani nodded in affirmation.

"Not that I remember, anyway," she added. Santana closed her eyes for a long moment and breathed deeply. When she opened them, they were determined.

Abruptly, she stood up. She reached for Dani, impatiently gesturing with her head for them to leave the room. Her foot tapped impatiently.

Dani followed suit, a little nervous.

"Wh — what are we doing?" she asked hesitantly, reaching out to take the proffered hand. Santana stared down at her with an expression in her eyes that was almost stern.

"We're going to make frosting. Right now. And if you don't know how to make it, then I'm going to teach you, because _nobody_ has an excuse to not know how to make frosting. If I don't teach you at least that, I will be a failure as a friend." Following behind her on the way out to the kitchen, Dani paused in the doorway. A tiny smile quirked at the corner of her mouth

"Friend?" she asked quietly. Prompted by the threat of the loss of Dani's hand in her own, Santana halted and turned. She studied Dani for half a second before noting the tiny smile; then she offered one of her own.

"Friend," she affirmed, and allowed her eyes to twinkle a little.

Dani's grin moved to her eyes and danced in reply.

 


	11. Black Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the re-vamp finished. I'll try to get right on writing this next chapter; I've already got it started.
> 
> Let me know if you're still here, yeah? Good to see that some of you are.

By Saturday at noon, it was clear to Santana that while things were going relatively well in comparison to the past couple of months, a new measure needed to be taken. Besides stepping in and out of the car on her way back from the hospital, Dani hadn't been outside since the night that had been discovered in the alley. As a result, to be completely truthful, Santana was torn. She understood that Dani was uneasy around strangers, particularly men, and she didn't fault her for that mistrust — not at all. Unfortunately, her trepidation created a bit of an issue; Dani's body was still weak, and even if it hadn't been, going so long without any exposure to the sun was certain to negatively affect one's health. To add to that, though staying closeted in a safe room was pleasant and easy, it wasn't doing anything to help Dani's condition improve.

Santana needed to get her to go outside. She wasn't sure at all of how to do it, and, instinctively wanting to help Dani as soon as possible, managed to work herself into desperation over the matter. In fact, with more free time on her hands now that Dani didn't require constant observation, she dedicated so much time to it that by the next Thursday evening she actually broke down and asked Rachel for help.

But Rachel was busy; Christmas was rapidly approaching, and she was, as usual, dealing with far more tasks than were perhaps absolutely necessary. The day had grown close enough that Kurt had long since abandoned waiting patiently for each morning to open the next little window in the advent calendar and had consumed the remainder of the chocolates one night while sitting with a new bottle of Dutch vodka on the fire escape. In accordance to that small mishap, and after helping the poor boy nurse a stomachache, she had declared the apartment a no-alcohol zone. This new regime had left all three of them — including Rachel — so edgy and disgruntled that by the time Christmas Eve had rolled around, the mounting tension in the building had risen to the point of explosion.

It was six-forty in the evening, and the apartment was bordering on a warzone. Already Santana had consumed nine bottles of mineral water in an attempt to find a substitute for Kurt's vodka. Rachel had been on the warpath all afternoon attempting to string up stubborn Christmas lights, and Kurt had gone so far overboard with the fake snow and tinsel that the girls were forced to stage an intervention. As Rachel crammed half of the silvery substance into a cardboard box and lobbed it over the edge of the fire escape, Santana downed her tenth and eleventh bottles and proceeded to stalk off to her room to find consolation for needing to venture out into the cold in order to buy some more. She found none, and since she instead was reminded by the sight of Dani of the problem that had helped contribute to her current position in the first place, she promptly stalked back out and retreated to the bathroom in hopes of finding some badly needed peace.

She wasn't the only one in need of it; as a result of Kurt and Rachel's frighteningly over exuberant Christmas festivities, Dani had spent most of the day hiding in the corner of the living room. She had withdrawn to the bedroom at six o'clock with the intention of curling up in a tight ball in bed and breathing in the comforting smell of Santana that lingered in the sheets, but when her bedmate promptly appeared in the doorway, the aura of calmness she had created was broken. She watched over the edge of the bundled-up comforter as Santana stumbled back out of the room, her thick-framed reading glasses askew and her skinny legs quivering with the sudden reminder of just how much water she had consumed in the past hour and a half.

As Santana scrambled her way to the bathroom, she tried her best to block out every sense and to allow her mind to fall into a stupor. Loud holiday music was playing obnoxiously in the background, and about twelve pots of odd-smelling substances simmered unchecked on the stove. Santana was overwhelmed. This sort of festive mood was strangling her so intensively that twice she was actually reduced to vomiting violently over the streamer-infested railing of their fire escape. The streamers on their own were probably a fire-hazard, but leave it to Rachel to break rules by doing something _festive._

Alcohol right now would be really, really nice. She needed something numbing, or even a horrible bought of nausea — anything to take her mind off Mitch Miller's infuriatingly cheery rendition of _Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer._ Desperate, she pawed through the medicine cabinet. Cough syrup? That would be nice too, but no; the only things she found that could bring her even a fraction of numbness were codeine and a bottle of baby Tylenol.

Well . . . at least the Tylenol would help her headache.

After dry swallowing several tablets, Santana collapsed onto the edge of the bathtub. She buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to let out a groan of frustration. She really needed Brittany's eighth-grade science fair invention: a remote that could pause, play, fast-forward, and rewind herself. As long as there was a volume button. That would be useful.

She was about to screw the label warnings and swallow a second dose of Tylenol when a loud knocking sounded on the bathroom door.

"What," she called out grumpily, not really caring who it was or what they wanted. If only they wouldn't _knock;_ the noise sounded like a gunshot.

"Be nice, Santana." Her eyes slid shut with a wince. Rachel.

"Berry, I've already dealt with the tinsel, put the gravy on to simmer, and cleaned up the remainder of Kurt's fake snow disaster, which made it look like I'm covered in dandruff. _What more could you possibly want from me?"_

"I was only going to tell you that we decided it would be easier on all of us if we just went out for dinner tonight," Rachel said meekly. "Kurt was thinking Jerry's — you know, that nice Italian place on Fifth that you and Tina and I went to? Blaine and Quinn said they could meet us if we didn't mind waiting there till seven." A small twinge of guilt flooded through Santana; Rachel was just trying to be nice. It wasn't her fault that Christmas music was so overwhelming.

She stood up and opened the door, offering the for-once subdued Rachel a small smile.

"Sure, Berry. Just let me tell Dani about it so that she knows we'll be gone for most of the . . ." Santana trailed off, the solution to her earlier problem suddenly occurring to her. "Rachel, would it be all right with you and Kurt if Dani came along?" Rachel appeared to be taken aback, though whether this was due to Santana's suggestion or to the use of her first name was unclear.

"I — of course, Santana," she granted hesitantly. "Although . . . Kurt and I both enjoy Dani's company very much; it's not that we don't, it's just . . . don't you think it might be a little bit much?" Santana gave her a halfhearted shrug.

"Worth a try, isn't it? And besides, she can't stay in here forever; sooner or later, if she doesn't go to it, the world is going to come to her. And it's just a small dinner with friends — people she _knows._ It'll be a good thing to start with. And if she says no, that's okay; we'll try some other time." She was already halfway down the hall before Rachel could respond, and began knocking gently but persistently at her bedroom door.

When Dani's soft voice called out for her to enter, she slipped in and shut the door behind her, grinning in her barely contained excitement.

"Hey there, D."

"H — hi, Santana." Dani hands fidgeted atop the sheets, twitching slightly as they traced subtle patterns into the thread. Santana smiled warmly at her, trying to convey the positivity she felt had to be linked to this new idea.

"I'm sorry I barged in here like that earlier, by the way," she added, not quite knowing how to broach the topic. "I just . . . needed to escape." Dani nodded solemnly.

"I guess Rachel's Christmas music can be a little overwhelming," she agreed. There was a moment of stubborn silence as both girls searched for a way to continue the conversation. It was just beginning to grow awkward when they both began to speak at once, resulting in them both apologizing profusely, sporting awkward blushes and waving at each other to speak first.

"It's — "

"So I was thinking — "

"Go."

"No, you go."

"No, seriously, it's fine."

"Dani."

"Seriously, go, I didn't even have anything important to say," Dani insisted graciously. She sat up to display her level of attentiveness. "I'm listening." Santana took a breath.

"Well . . ." Dani watched her expectantly. She exhaled. "Sorry. Kurt and Rachel suggested that we all go out to dinner tonight instead of staying here where we're all clearly pretty stressed out, and I was wondering if you . . . well, if you wanted to come with us. To dinner, I mean. There's a nice Italian place on Fifth that Rachel and I know about, and we were going to meet Quinn there, and Blaine, too, and I was thinking earlier that it would be really nice for you to get outside because you're always cooped up in here and you haven't had a chance to stretch your legs, but if you're not comfortable with it than that's totally fine and I get it and I would never push you to do anything that you're not ready for, but it would be nice to have you along, but I don't want you to feel obligated, and you probably don't even want to spend any more time with us because we're loud and I'll admit we're all kind of obnoxious and god, we probably overwhelm you sometimes don't we? Or don't we? Does it bother you to be around us? Because if it does than you can just say it, and we won't be offended, like, at _all,_ and I mean — "

"Santana."

"Right, I'm done, I promise. Sorry."

"Not at all." Something about Dani's tone made Santana look up, and she was surprised to see that Dani was grinning at her amusedly.

"What?"

"You're cute when you ramble." When Santana raised an eyebrow, it seemed to dawn on Dani what she had said, and her eyes widened. Reflexively, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "I — I mean — god, Santana, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that; that was stupid of me, I'm sorry . . ."

"Now look who's rambling." Dani flushed a brilliant pink and dropped her eyes to the mattress.

"Sorry," she whispered again, though it seemed to be directed more to the air than to anything else in particular. Santana shook her head.

"Not at all." When after a moment Dani raised her head, it was to see Santana grinning at her playfully. She bit her lip and instinctively lowered her eyes again, but quickly was looking up again at Santana from underneath her eyelashes. Her lips spread in a small smile.

"Yeah, I'll come."

"What?" Santana's train of thought had been thrown way off track. Then she saw a slight bit of nervousness return to Dani's eyes, and she remembered what she had come in here to ask. "Oh. I mean — really? You'd really be okay with that?" Dani nodded, biting her lip timidly.

"Yeah. I mean, I think. I'll give it a try. I'd _like_ to give it a try." Santana appeared slightly startled; it wasn't often that she heard Dani explicitly express any particular desire. She figured that if anything, it at least had to be a step in the right direction.

"O — okay. Yeah. Great. I'll tell Rachel. Do you want anything special to wear? I mean, you can wear whatever you want of my clothes if you don't feel like wearing yours. Not that you wouldn't feel like wearing yours, I just — "

"Santana."

"Right. I'll leave you to it." She started to exit the room, but promptly stuck her head right back through, startling Dani as she began to get up. "Oh, and Dani?"

"Yeah?"

"If you — if at any point tonight you feel uncomfortable and want me to take you back home, you . . . you just let me know, okay? Promise that you'll let me know?" Dani nodded, but her eyes were solemn in a manner different from what Santana was used to.

"I promise I'll let you know if I want you to take me back home," she said slowly. "But not if I'm just uncomfortable. I'm going to be uncomfortable; I will be for a long time. Some really shitty things have happened to me, so I'm not sure if I'll ever be totally comfortable with being around strangers again, but if I go running back home every time I feel a little funny with it, I'll never leave the house. And as much as I love this apartment, Santana, I don't really want to be staring at the same four walls for the rest of my life." A little stunned by this new and vehement declaration, Santana only nodded, but once she was out of Dani's eyesight and on her way back to the living room, she permitted a large grin to take hold of her expression.

As slowly as it was happening, Dani was getting better, and not even Kurt's excessive fake snow could wipe away the pride with which that realization came.

When Dani emerged from the bedroom shortly before seven o'clock, Santana, Rachel, and Kurt's jaws all dropped at the sight of the transformation that had taken place. She was dressed elegantly in navy jeans and a sweater of a deep red shade that accentuated each curve and highlighted her dark honey eyes, which were striking even with minimal makeup. Her hair had been curled and teased into long, dark locks that spilled attractively over her shoulders. She still thumbed her fingernails a little as she walked, and her balance sporadically wavered, but her shoulders were held loosely, her eyes were not preoccupied, she flashed them a small smile as she entered the room, and she was overall the most relaxed that they had ever seen her before. It was such a startling difference that Santana in fact searched her eyes raptly for any signs of stress before deciding that what she was seeing was indeed the truth and offering an approving nod.

"Dani! Don't you look _lovely_ tonight," was Rachel's immediate comment.

"Absolutely stunning," confirmed Kurt, but Dani's eyes were focused solely on Santana, seemingly waiting for her input. She stood silently for a long moment, expectant, while Santana discreetly swallowed to deal with her suddenly dry mouth.

"That's — you're — quite . . . er . . . well . . ." she began awkwardly before clearing her throat loudly to break the tension. "You look beautiful, Dani."

Dani flushed brightly and fluttered her eyes to her feet in embarrassment for a moment before returning them to Santana's face.

"Thank you, San." Santana smiled as she reached out to help Dani with her coat.

"Any time, D." And then they were both so preoccupied with maneuvering the sleeves of the black puffy jacket that neither of them noticed the significant look that Kurt and Rachel shared. It was only when they were walking out the door that the new use of their nicknames occurred to them. Neither girl mentioned the fact to the other, but as they drove off into the brightness of the city, it seemed to both of them that they were trying to catch each other's eye.

* * *

Their arrival at Jerry's prompted an interchange of trepidatious glances between Rachel, Kurt, and Santana, all three of whom were, from the moment they stepped from the car, closely monitoring Dani's every move. Santana, in addition, was on the lookout for any suspicious-looking figures; she didn't honestly expect them to encounter anyone seriously dangerous, but she also understood that in Dani's mind, practically anyone could be _perceived_ as dangerous. Quite frankly, she was willing to put on a serious show of brutality to keep the stares away, if only to prevent Dani from feeling uncomfortable.

The girl in question was lingering at the door to the restaurant, her head ducked down as she surveyed the customers milling about. The low buzz of energy that radiated from the scene sent her thoughts into a conflicted zone — the dull murmur of voices was almost comforting to her, but at the same time, uneasiness still lingered heavily in the pit of her stomach. Watching so many different people interacting with one another, Dani realized that she had absolutely no idea how to maneuver this new situation.

Without totally registering what she was doing, she flexed the fingers of her left hand, and found that Santana's were already right there, offering themselves to be entwined. With hardly a second thought, she tangled them with her own.

"Rachel, Santana!" Quinn waved from a table near the center of the room, where Blaine sat properly in his chair, napkin tucked into his shirt. As they maneuvered through the conglomeration of tables, chairs, and wayward feet, Kurt appeared somewhat miffed.

"Nice to see you too, Quinnie-the-Pooh," he greeted stiffly as he sat down. Quinn's delicately pink lips pursed.

_"Don't_ call me that, please, Kurt; I was calling to Santana and Rachel because I knew that they hadn't seen me yet. You were actually paying attention and noticed where I was, so you should be considering it a compliment to your observation skills that I didn't yell your name."

"I consider it a compliment when anybody yells my name, thank you very much."

"Okay, gross. Moving on."

Dani watched their banter play out in intrigue. Her eyes flitted back and forth from one face to another, trying to gauge the reactions of all present. Nobody seemed to be adverse to the behavior on display, and she marveled at it; she never knew that people teased each other like this without the intention of being cruel. In fact, these people were even _smiling._ She shook her head in befuddlement. Humor was a fairly new concept to her, though she was aware of its existence; she'd never encountered it enough to absorb much of its significance.

"Dani? I'm planning on sitting next to you as long as that's okay, but somebody else needs to be on your other side. Any particular preferences?" Dani blinked as it registered that Santana was speaking to her, albeit in a low tone that the others didn't seem to take notice of. Certainly, if they did, they were polite enough not to acknowledge it. She frowned thoughtfully.

"I'm allowed to choose?" She couldn't help asking. It was true that in the past several weeks she had come to see that having her own opinion could potentially be acceptable, but being told it and believing it were two very different things.

"Honey, you can _always_ choose," Santana reassured with a light squeeze of her hand. Dani studied the sincerity in her eyes for a moment before lifting her gaze to scan through the group of friends. When they came to rest on the object of her intent, she blushed to see hazel eyes gazing steadily back at her. The warm, friendly smile that was sent back eased her embarrassment at being caught staring, and after a moment of nervous hesitation, she allowed herself to return the expression.

"Quinn." Santana's own smile increased as she nodded and beckoned to her old friend.

"Hey Quinnie-bear, looks like you've made yourself a friend." Quinn's smile grew impossibly wide as she saw Santana gesturing to the spot beside the nervous young woman.

"Hey Dani, nice to see you out and about," she greeted warmly, settling down comfortably into the waiting chair. She shifted the coat hanging over the back so as to not sit on it.

Slipping into the chair, Dani resolved to keep her worries to herself — and her hands, which, judging by Santana's proximity, was going to be more than moderately difficult. In the past few weeks, through extensive exploration, she had been slowly discovering the social nuances of touch. She had grown up with the idea of public physical contact being pegged as something uncommon and blatantly invasive; in the somewhat-closeted safety of the apartment, however, she had slowly come to learn that this wasn't always the case.

For instance, the innocent hand-holding that she and Santana engaged in — Santana, angel that she was, always requested permission before reaching out — didn't seem to be perceived negatively by either of them or by Kurt and Rachel. It was easy enough to understand such things in the private realm of the apartment, but then she had noticed on the way here that other people held hands as well, and even kissed one another in public. Her guarded mind had a hard time comprehending a world where physical touch wasn't perceived as an attack.

Considering that, she recalled something that Rachel had pointed out to her a week ago when Blaine came over to visit. He'd brought with him a friend from work, and Dani, though used to Blaine by now, had cowered a little at the sight of the stranger. Logically, she had known that of _course_ anyone that Blaine brought home wouldn't be harmful, but she had found herself constantly on alert regardless, her nerves continually on edge as a course of habit. Rachel, seeing her internal struggle, had approached her where she sat observing the room warily from the corner by the Christmas cactus.

"There are some bad people out there, aren't there?" she'd commented conversationally. Dani had hummed. "There are some awful, awful people." Again, Dani had made a small sound of agreement without removing her eyes from Blaine. Scooting sideways a little, careful to remain in Dani's periphery so as not to spook her, Rachel had given her a little nudge. "Thing is, though, most people aren't so awful."

That thought had never occurred to her before, but casting her gaze cautiously about the restaurant as they waited to be served, Dani realized that none of its inhabitants appeared particularly threatening. There was a family of four a little ways away, and a rather rambunctious gaggle of teenagers several tables over; right beside them, an old man and woman were debating the price of a key-lime pie, and over at the bar —

Dani's blood turned to ice faster than her hand could fly out to grip Santana's wrist. She hardly even processed that she had just voluntarily reached for someone without an internal debate; the entirety of her attention was focused on the sight that had caused her chest to constrict like an iron band was wrapped around her lungs.

"Dani?" Santana's worried tone broke through her foggy terror. "Dani, what's going on?" When Dani didn't respond, she appeared to notice the way her eyes were locked onto the bar and followed her gaze. "What's over there?"

"Red shirt." Her mouth was acting without her permission, obeying commands from some higher authority in a moment when her brain was barely functional. Black was creeping in from all sides, pulling in tunnel vision, scraping along her veins as she felt the old throbbing return to her head and her stomach and her ribs, thighs aching, skin burning as the memory of old scars flared to life.

"The guy in the red shirt by the bar? Who is he?" She truly, honestly didn't know; her brain couldn't filter through the dark in order to find the memory it filed away. Santana sounded calmly concerned, like she was beginning to understand that something bad had occurred but didn't want to add to the fear. Dani's actual cognitive function was just slipping past the point of unreachable, but the last bit of her that was present was alert enough to cling to the one important thing she knew: she needed Santana's help. She needed her, or she was going to slip away entirely and the world was going to be dark and incomprehensible and scary and she wasn't going to be able to handle it.

She just needed to know that someone would be there when she emerged to put her back together, and her subconscious seemed to know that too, for she discovered that her lips were forming an answer she didn't recall possessing.

"In the alley by the park this fall. He's the one who hurt me."

 


	12. Sound and Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. I promised an update, and here it is. I'll likely come back and fix it up and/or add to it because I'm not quite satisfied, but the writer's block is setting in like HELL and I wanted to get this out because I was getting frustrated. Now maybe that it's off my mind I can get around to doing some other writing . . .
> 
> Buckle up, friends. Shit's about to go down.

As soon as she articulated her identification of the threat, Dani's world spun gracefully to a halt and settled back into place. Noise and vision ceased to blur and throb, giving the abrupt impression of tuning a radio back in after a moment of silence. Her thoughts, while still racing and disordered, seemed sharper. She could hear and comprehend, clearly, the worried babble running from Santana's mouth at her side.

"Santana." She'd scarcely realized that she'd closed her hand over her companion's wrist in her struggle to ground herself. Instantly, Santana fell silent. Dani kept her gaze fastened on the bar; out of the corner of her eye, she could sense Santana watching her nervously. "I'm fine," she said. She was still caught in the midst of what felt like quite an extended double-take, shocked by the lack of tunnel vision, and the low tone of her own voice didn't prove to make her less startled. She'd been rather expecting it to be high-pitched and strained, but to her rather dull surprise, she sounded extraordinarily normal.

Santana appeared to have noticed, too, for she gave a visible start. Blinking, she leaned forward.

"Dani?"

"I'm going to go over there." It slipped out absently; Dani still hadn't taken her eyes off of the man in red. Distantly, she was aware that this was not how she would normally be acting in this situation, and that perhaps something about her approach was more than a little off, but more overpowering was the sudden urge to act. To her, it didn't feel prompted by passion; a cool, steady determination had stolen over her. Undoubtedly, she should have been panicking, but this felt ever so much more productive.

"What? Dani, no!" Santana protested. Quinn, who up until this point had been engaged in conversation with Rachel, who was on her left, shifted her attention to the duo beside her.

"I'm not scared of him," Dani said simply. As she said it, she wasn't sure where the words had come from. She didn't remember actively thinking them, but hearing them found them to feel fairly accurate. She continued to be aware in some far corner of her mind that this wasn't typical, that she should be on the floor screaming as she had so often with Santana, but the panic wouldn't come. It almost felt like those moments when she had felt the urge to cry but couldn't coax out any tears; frustrated, bewildered, but ultimately satisfied.

"You're — _what?"_ Santana sounded about as bewildered as Rachel had the morning that she had emerged at five AM to discover Kurt on the couch sobbing over _The Incredibles._

"I'm not scared of him," Dani repeated. This was approaching one of the strangest things she'd ever felt. The man in red, talking with his friends over what appeared to be a whiskey, appeared suddenly ordinary and unremarkable. Even the large hand gripping the tumbler — the same hand that had held her down — seemed suddenly smaller and less intimidating. Perhaps it was seeing him in a setting other than a dark alley, or perhaps it was the knowledge that she was _safe,_ sitting with people who wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her.

"Well, you should be!" Santana broke into her string of contemplation. Blinking twice, Dani slowly turned to face her. There was something stirring beneath her ribs, almost like an itch; a feeling like when she held her breath too long and needed to stretch and huff and gasp and scream.

"Do you _want_ me to be afraid?" Immediately, she was shocked by her own words, as was, it appeared, Santana.

"What? Of course not!" Santana protested, shaking her head vigorously. She scooted her chair a little towards Dani's. "I'm just worried; this isn't like you, D. What's going on? Are you okay?" A wave of steadiness washed over Dani; with a little toss of her hair, she straightened her shoulders.

"I told you I'm fine," she said slowly. "In fact, I feel great. I'm going now." With that, she began to stand, but two sets of arms caught her around her waist. Having listened attentively to the latter part of their exchange, Quinn had anticipated her movement and stood to block her. Behind her, Santana held her hips.

Dani let out a tiny huff of frustration. She hadn't felt this way, this clear-headed and _normal,_ since she had relayed the story of her childhood to Santana. She spent nearly all of her waking moments on high alert, exhausted and skittish and feeling sluggish in the brain, and now that she actually felt all right, they were stopping her. Granted, she understood that this wasn't the way that she would usually act, but that was the point, wasn't it? She was _feeling fine._ For once, she actually wanted to take action and do something to support herself on her own. Why couldn't they see that?

"Dani, I can't let you do that," Quinn was saying firmly. Dani didn't particularly feel fazed, but she could see where this woman could wield a fair bit of power; she understood why Santana called her the HBIC. Nevertheless, it didn't deter her. This was her situation, and she could handle it accordingly. She didn't have any particular idea of what she would say once she reached the bar, only that she had something to say and was currently brimming with the confidence to do so. Why shouldn't she? Too many people had stolen the joy from her life, but it was _her_ life; she should be in control of it.

"Quinn, I know what I'm doing," she countered smoothly. "If you'd like to back me up, feel free, but I'm going over there, and I'm going now." Breaking free of their grasp — she was sure they'd thought she wouldn't move, and so hadn't been holding on too tightly — she rapidly maneuvered her way around Quinn. She was aware of Kurt rising to stand behind her but ignored his presence, instead beginning to wend her way between tables towards the bar.

_"Dani."_ The sharp hiss came from Rachel behind her. It was clearly intended to be quiet, but the word was so harshly enunciated that it had the opposite effect; immediately, the surrounding tables went quiet. Dani paused as every set of eyes within a ten foot radius turned to stare curiously, a terrible sinking feeling entering her chest. It was as though the balloon that had swelled within her had been suddenly, subtly punctured; in anticipation, she felt her blood run cold. Slowly, the two heads at the bar turned to look her way.

Their eyes met for what seemed like a millionth of a second, and then Dani shrieked and dove blindly back the way she'd came.

It was a miracle, in the tangle of tables and chairs and patrons legs, that she managed to make it back without falling. As it was, she tripped over nearly every obstacle in her blundering haste. Her hearing had diminished to a high ringing. By the time she'd stumbled her way back, her vision too had faded. The last thing she saw before she slammed into outstretched arms was the shock written across every face at the table.

It felt like all of her senses had narrowed to a window only a sliver wide, sound and sight and feeling all muffled and distant as though she were observing them from down a long tunnel. She was vaguely aware of how her heartbeat was thundering in her ears and behind her eye sockets, heavy and loud and persistent. Something was buzzing in her veins as though her blood had gone fizzy, the feeling spreading out to her fingers and hipbones and the tips of her ears. There was something dull behind her eyes too, like a thick shield of lead.

She couldn't recognize herself. It felt like she was falling — was she falling?

Apparently she was, or had at least stumbled, for suddenly someone's hands wrapped around her shoulders, their grip gentle but firm. Through what seemed to her to be a kaleidoscope of fragmented sound and vision, Dani watched the paintings on the restaurant walls spin and blur around her as the hands steered her in a full circle. Now she was facing the window. Why was she facing the window? She didn't remember deciding to move.

_"Dani."_ There was that voice, the low, sweet one that often broke in during the moments when her brain shut down and left her flailing in a pool of sensation without processing it. That voice was familiar, but there was no way that in her current state she would be able to place it. Somewhere, there was a whining noise like the sound the kettle made today when Rachel tried to brew some tea. Were her ears burning? Boiling? Why couldn't anyone else hear the kettle?

No, no kettle; there was no kettle. Rachel was here, though. Something in Dani latched onto that: Rachel was here, but the window she was facing wasn't their window, which meant that she and Rachel had gone somewhere. Why had they left the apartment? Not to make tea — no, but that was close; it was to eat.

In her blind, blurred panic, Dani found that she was hardly able to formulate coherent thoughts. The overwhelming fear took precedence, but at the same time, she was able to sense, dimly, a sense of grief.

She didn't _want_ to hurt again. She didn't want to be hurt now that she knew what it was like to be treated kindly; she didn't want to lose that fragile sense of independence and womanhood that had been bestowed upon her. She didn't want to feel that familiar pain, especially not _now,_ now that she had finally found a place where she was _safe._ Such a place had never existed for her before, but she had it here. After over twenty-two long years, she'd finally found a place that was not only non-threatening, but where she felt _protected._ Santana had made a point of proving that she would keep her safe from anything.

_Santana._

As Dani's world began to slowly spin to a halt, her focus narrowed to the warm hands firmly on her shoulders, and she registered immediately to whom they belonged.

Without hesitating, she turned and buried her face in Santana's neck.

"Hold me." The words caught in Santana's hair as Dani pressed herself inwards. They fell from her lips almost involuntarily, low enough that Quinn, beside them, couldn't hear. She wasn't even sure how they had remained standing; all she knew was that, for the first time, she had voluntarily thrown herself into someone's arms.

"Dani, what — " it was Rachel's voice; distantly, Dani was aware of Quinn shooing her away. Without looking up, she could sense the woman's movement as she rose to stand in front of the two of them, blocking Dani's view of the bar and thus, his view of her.

"I'm safe with you." Dani's voice was muffled in Santana's neck, but audible nonetheless. "You're safe. He's here and I'm scared but you're safe, and I know you won't let him hurt me. Please don't let him hurt me, Santana, _I don't want to hurt."_

The plaintive, hysterical pleas cascading off Dani's lips had Santana's mouth pressed into a thin line. She had Dani ensnared protectively in her embrace, one arm wrapped firmly around her back and the other tucking her head safely into her neck. She had to focus hard on not letting her attention drift to the feeling of warm curves pressed so tightly against her, their bodies touching from head to toe. Dani's back was convulsing with silent sobs beneath her hand.

Santana found herself engaged in a mental battle, wanting so badly to march over to that bar and smash his shocked, beet-red face in but knowing that she couldn't let go. She couldn't let go of Dani. Not ever, and especially not when she had voluntarily flung herself into Santana's arms.

Besides, she was a little preoccupied contending with the other, slightly more insistent odd feeling rising up in her chest; the way she was holding Dani was like that of a protective lover, and it was confusing as hell.

_Do I_ want _Dani to be my lover?_ The little voice inside her head piped up the nagging question, only to be immediately squashed down as Santana shook herself slightly. _For Christ's sake, Santana, not the time._ There was a mounting crisis to deal with, especially if they didn't want Dani to freak out even more than she already had.

It was impossible, with the spectacle they were causing, that nobody had noticed the little scene. Already, a number of customers had let out exclamations of shock; a few had stood and were anxiously making their way over to inquire if they were okay.

"Yes, yes, we're fine; thank you," Kurt waved them off distractedly. The well-wishers obeyed, though looking slightly incredulous. A waitress had summoned her manager from out back and both were standing at the swinging doors to the kitchen looking on with folded arms. "Santana, we have to do something," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. _"Santana._ We don't want him to realize who it — "

But it was too late. Having been studying their little group intently for the past minute, the man appeared to come to a realization. His eyes widened, and he stood abruptly, snatching up his jacket from the back of his barstool. Kurt huffed out a strained breath.

_"Shit."_

"Stop him!"

"Call the cops!" Quinn and Rachel spoke at the same time as Kurt and Blaine lunged for the bar, Rachel turning urgently to a woman at a nearby table with a plea for her cell phone. At the shout, Santana felt Dani cringe into her chest. Her hands were scrabbling at her back, attempting to find purchase in her sweater. Increasing the pressure on the back of Dani's head, she focused on transferring a feeling of calm and safety into the little body pressed to hers. Her eyes followed Kurt and Blaine as they managed to cut the man off before he reached the door, the manager eventually coming to his senses and joining the fray. At her elbow, Rachel was jabbering rapidly into the borrowed phone; Quinn, a few tables away, was standing poised to act in case her aid was needed in either direction.

A low mumbling sounded from somewhere around Santana's collarbone. Without pulling back, she managed to tilt her head to better hear what was going on.

"What was that, Dani?"

"Let me get _away._ Santana, _please."_ Dani's voice was desperate and constricted. "I don't want to watch." Santana slipped her hand deeper into chestnut curls so that her hand was cupped around the soft skin at the nape of Dani's neck. Around her shoulders, Dani's hands tightened.

"It's all going to be okay," Santana informed her. "You don't have to watch."

"What's happening?" The mumble was nearly lost against the press of warm skin. "Is — he's not coming closer?"

"No, sweetheart," Santana reassured her, tightening her grasp. "They've got him trapped by the door. Some more people went over to help so he's not going to get away. The police are coming, little one; don't worry." They were; Santana could hear the sirens in approach. The sound was growing steadily more painful. Tucked into Santana's hair, it seemed like the sound ought to have muffled the noise for Dani, but instead she appeared to be stiffening with every passing second. Though the man had been apprehended, a brawl was still ensuing near the door as the sirens grew ever louder.

Something about it all gave Santana the disconcerting feeling of a countdown, almost as though a bomb were about to go off.

_Ten._

A man at a table nearby stood to join the fray, his wife calling to him to be careful; the sound of sirens increased.

_Nine. Eight._

Dani squirmed, her elbows wriggling beneath Santana's tight grasp. In the background, Quinn called out.

_Seven. Six._

"Santana, what's happening?"

_Five._

"Dani? What's wrong?"

_Four._

The flashing red and blue of police lights had reached their block; the sound was piercing. Dani struggled harder.

_Three._

"Santana!"

_Two._

"They're here; they've got him."

"Dani — "

_One._

As the three cops wrenched open the front door, the cold air came spilling in, causing goosebumps to erupt all over Santana's arms. A shout; the sirens cut out. Rachel's commanding voice was heard shouting over the din. Another gust of cold; Santana lost her grip, and Dani darted out the door.

Kurt stared over the heads of the scuffling policemen in bewilderment.

"What the hell was that?"

* * *

It took a surprisingly short time to locate Dani, especially given the fact that maneuvering their way through the mayhem of the restaurant wasn't exactly easy. It was also necessary to designate someone to stay behind as a delegate to speak with the police. They ended up nominating Blaine and Rachel for that honor seeing as they had full knowledge of what had been done to Dani in the past. Once that was appropriately sorted — through a lot of muddled shouting — and once Santana, Kurt, and Quinn had managed to fight their way through the masses to the door, Dani had long since vanished.

The prospect of locating the missing girl in the web of darkened, freezing streets would have been daunting had Santana not known her so well. As they stumbled out of the restaurant, her eyes scanned the surrounding area for any small, shadowed corner Dani could have possibly tucked herself into.

"Come on, come on . . ." she muttered, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes from the glaring headlights in approach. "If you were running from someone, where would you hide . . ." It would be somewhere dark, small enough for Dani to curl herself into but public enough that someone would hear her if she screamed for help. She couldn't have gone far, not with her ankle still halfway in recovery, and Santana had a suspicion that she _wouldn't_ have anyway. With the knowledge that her protectors were still in the restaurant, it was unlikely that she would have ventured too far out of their reach.

"Spread out," she instructed Kurt and Quinn. "Look for a small space that she could have hidden in, probably close to the road but out of any major light. If you find her, don't yell; you'll scare her. Just text me. You got it?" Her friends nodded wordlessly; without another peep, Quinn had darted off down the pavement and disappeared into an alley. Kurt followed close behind.

Santana, setting off in the opposite direction, had hardly gone three yards when her eyes caught a smudge of red against the dim light. Moving closer as quietly as her boots would let her, she peeked behind one of the trashcans out front of the hair salon on the corner, and —

Well, now Santana felt a little foolish for having virtually sent out a S.W.A.T. team to find Dani when she'd been curled up behind a trashcan three doors away.

"Hey there, D." Santana sank to her knees in front of the girl, hardly minding the slushy concrete pressing into her jeans. Dani had her arms looped around her knees, head leaning back against the brick wall of the salon. Santana could see goosebumps all across her exposed skin. She was biting her lip, but instead of looking panicked, as Santana had expected, she appeared to be almost . . . frustrated.

"Is he gone?" Santana was surprised when the words escaped, bitten from her lips as Dani continued to stare straight ahead.

" . . . They've got him," she granted after a moment of hesitation. "Rachel and Blaine are talking to the cops; they'll arrest him tonight, but we'll have to go in to give a statement. Not now, but eventually." Dani nodded, gaze still not directed at Santana.

"Good." There followed a moment of silence, and then finally her eyes turned to the woman kneeling beside her. "Can we go home?" Santana nodded, though inwardly frowning in confusion. Based on past experience, Dani should have been cowering in fear. Instead, her reactions had been so polarized throughout the ordeal that Santana couldn't quite keep up. Underneath the volatile behavior, there was a definite sense of some other emotion, a kind of hyper aggravation, as if Dani were wired and tense.

"Of course we can," she granted, and extended a hand for Dani to pull herself up. "We've still got plenty of food ready for tonight that we can eat instead. Besides, tomorrow is Christmas! We'll have cocoa, and pajamas, and presents . . ." Santana trailed off. She'd been hoping to distract Dani with the mention of presents, the likes of which the other girl had assuredly never received, but Dani hardly murmured a response as they emerged from behind the trashcans and set off down the street. It was odd. Santana wasn't sure what was worse; nervous, constantly on edge Dani, or the numb version of her that responded incorrectly to heightened situations.

She didn't know what exactly it was, but it was pretty clear to Santana that there was something going on.


End file.
